The Counterfeit Mistress (13 page)

“W
e must go back inside now.”

His words startled her. She had fallen asleep in his embrace. Perhaps he had too.

“It will be dawn soon.” He lifted her to her feet and held her there until her limbs unstiffened. He grabbed her dress and held it so she could step into it.

They dressed, such as the dressing went. He made sure she wrapped the blanket snugly. “Dawn's chill is the worst.”

Together they walked back through the garden. Far in the east the first gray light began to seep through the dark.

No one stood at the door. “I wonder where he went,” she said.

“I sent him to bed.”

She looked at him. “You knew when you came out that you intended to seduce me. That is why you sent him away.”

He walked on, guiding her through the house to the stairs. He nodded, not one bit chagrined by her accusation. “Out there or in here. Either way, I knew I did not need guards at the doors, because I would be with you.” He glanced over. “You were warned not to wander through the house and to stay in your chamber.”

“I thought you said that because you were concerned I would steal something.”

“You were wrong.”

He appeared pleased with himself. Quite content. She debated whether to broach her need to return to London now, or in the morning. There was much to recommend asking a favor when a man had just taken his pleasure. He would find it very calculating, however. Much more than in reality any part of the night had been.

On the level with her chamber he pointed to large double doors as they passed. “My chambers are in there. You may visit whenever you like.”

How thoughtful. Lord Kendale was not such a hard man it seemed. He did not shy away from the intimacy now between them. Pleased by his romantic gesture, she kissed him.

At her door he took his leave of her. She smiled up at him. “You may visit when you like too.”

“That is generous of you, but I cannot.”

“I can go there, but you cannot come here? I do not understand.”

He rested his fingertips on her lips and looked in her eyes. “You are my prisoner. If I came to this door, you might feel an obligation. I am not that kind of man.”

His prisoner. Still.

“You were that kind of man tonight. You even came out into the garden intending to be.”

“I intended to have you. I did not intend to impose on you or obligate you.”

“You are walking some very fine lines.”

“You have no idea just how fine the lines with you have been, Marielle. As for tonight—you kissed me, remember? You said you wanted me.”

Tell me what you want.

Damn him. Even at the height of passion he had remembered to trick her into all but begging for him first. His notions of honor had not been violated. One of them would sleep the slumber of the righteous.

She opened the door, entered, and slammed it shut on him. What kind of a man was he, to let her give herself to him like that, and still speak of her as a prisoner? He was not supposed to be thinking like a gaoler now. He was supposed to be wet clay in her hands.

M
r. Pottsward arrived just after noon the next day. He ceremoniously set a wrapped bundle on the divan in the dressing room. “Her woman put this together for me. I was not present. I cannot vouch for what it contains.”

Packages from Marielle's servant were all fine and good, but more important matters needed to be settled first. “Did you see the solicitor about the property I wrote to you about?”

“I did. He assured me that the deed will be ready for signing when you next come to town. He advised against buying a pleasure craft unless you intend to use it on the river, however. Anything of more substance is in danger of being requisitioned by the naval service.”

“Spoken like a lawyer. They never account for fun. One wonders if they were ever children.”

“He also itemized the costs of maintaining such a vessel. On which point, I feel I must mention that we really do not have room for a private navy, sir. I toured the cellars and attics before coming here, and as it is—”

“Don't worry. I'll not have sailors here. The lads are eager to try their hands at it themselves. How hard can it be?”

“No harder than hitting a target dead-on with a musket from two hundred paces, I suspect.”

Kendale laughed. Mr. Pottsward was just being Pottsward. He turned his attention to the package. That old woman would not tuck a pistol in there, would she? He picked it up and gave it a few squeezes.

“They are not pleased at that house,” Pottsward reported while he set about hanging clothes strewn about. “Those women, I mean. Odd place, sir. Not a man in sight. Not natural, if you ask me.”

“I suppose they find men inconvenient in some way.”

“I cannot imagine what way that would be. Any woman with sense would want a man around for protection if nothing else. They need not marry if they have radical notions on that subject. It need only be a servant, just so the world knows they are not vulnerable.”

“I do not think they are without any protection.” Indeed, Marielle and Dominique and the women who worked there had enjoyed some of the best protection to be had. That of agents of the Home Office. That of Lord Kendale and his men.

She claimed she was not a spy. If not, why had she not taken steps to remove the suspicions? Why allow them to stand all this time? Marielle had not done anything to kill the rumors. She had realized he followed her and never confronted him but allowed it to continue.

Perhaps she did like having men around for the protection they afforded. That attack on her, and the intrusion in her house, suggested she needed protection from something.

Then again, perhaps she could not kill the rumors because they were true. The prints she sent to France might contain information, hidden in ways only her allies would decipher. The engraver might be part of her network.

He should not forget that possibility. He must not allow last night to addle his brain. The tendency to make excuses for her had already led him to some bad judgments. He would have to be vigilant in the future, especially now that he had succumbed to his hunger for her.

He picked up the bundle and walked down to her chamber door. She opened it and looked at him with a low-lidded expression that did not bode well for the day. He handed over the parcel, thinking it would be wise for her to change into another dress. He could not see this one without remembering it sliding down her body to reveal her nakedness.

“My valet will go to the village and see about bringing a woman here to serve you.” He said it on impulse, so the door would not close too quickly.

“That is a lot of trouble for what will only be a few days. I can do for myself a short while. Who knows what disruption yet another woman would wreck on this house. I am not sure your men would know how to behave.”

“They would behave with the discipline of soldiers.”

“I have seen what the discipline of soldiers is worth. Better if you leave the village women in their homes.” She looked down at the bundle. “How long will I be here? Until you decide what to do with me, you said. How long will that be? I have a business in London. Those women depend on me.”

“A few days.” Perhaps a week. Maybe longer. He would know soon. “You do not have to remain here during the day. You can go on the grounds or elsewhere in the house.”

“You are no longer concerned that I will run away?”

“I think you know that I would find you before you got far, so you will not bother to try.”

A challenge entered her eyes. A small smile played on her lips. She nodded in agreement while she slowly closed the door.

L
ate that afternoon a commotion entered the house. It began in the drive and rolled through the door. Men's voices cascaded up the stairs.

Marielle left her chamber and listened. Some of Kendale's men had returned from some journey. She would not have thought this estate needed more servants. How many did he maintain?

Angus came running up the stairs. He stopped when he saw her, made a quick bow, then turned and ran to Kendale's chambers. Then Angus ran back and flew down the stairs.

Kendale emerged. He noticed her while he strode to the stairs. He paused, his hand on the balustrade and one boot already descending.

“Supper will be brought to you,” he said. “You should make yourself scarce this evening.”

She did not mind obeying. She liked her chamber. Old Pete brought up food late in the evening and set in on the table she had placed near the window. Noise from below made its way in when she opened it.

“It sounds like a party,” she said.

“It is just the lads having some beer.”

“How many lads live here? A good number from the sounds.”

Old Pete rubbed his chin while he thought. “Hard to say. Here proper, there's maybe two dozen. Then there's the ones who come by like today. Maybe another dozen of them? Only milord knows the total, I guess.”

“Why would there be servants who only come by on occasion? What use are they if they are not here?”

“Oh, you want to know how many
servants
there are. Well, now, there's me and the cook and Mr. Pottsward and—”

“If the others are not servants, what are they? Angus, for example.”

“Angus? He is a soldier. A man-at-arms. No one better with a sword. I was a soldier too once, before I got old.” He finished setting out the food and left.

She ate with the window open, listening to the male camaraderie below. Soldiers, Pete called them, but they wore no uniform of the British army. And Lord Kendale had given up his commission when he inherited the title.

He had a private army. That was the answer, she was sure. He had called these men soldiers, but she had not understood he meant it literally. This was the fort from which he sent sorties out to do—who knew what?
I have had others follow you
instead.
She thought he had hired one of those men who investigate for pay, not that he assigned some of his private men-at-arms to do it.

Was this allowed in England? Were private armies common? She could not see how any government would welcome such a thing. In ancient times a lord had his own knights and fighting men, but this was not then.

Down below these soldiers ate in their mess. Soon they would retire to their barracks. No wonder there were no women here. No wonder he thought he could imprison her when he lacked any authority to do so. No wonder she could not find the portal on the garden's back wall.

Old Pete had provided a trifle for her meal's end. She dipped a spoon in the sweet custard. While she ate it, the thought entered her mind that perhaps Lord Kendale was mad. Utterly mad.

T
he safe return of comrades from a mission is always a cause for celebration. Kendale did not deny the men their boisterous joy, their beer and gin, or even their pranks. He sat with them for the long evening meal and listened to all of the stories about derring-do. He offered a few foulmouthed toasts along with the others.

Long after midnight, as one by one heads nodded or consciousness slipped a man's grasp, he faced one of the last men standing across a plank table in the cellar. He poured the short, glassy-eyed, balding Mr. Drummond more gin.

Drummond lifted his glass in salute.

“Before you drink that, Drummond, and fall under this table for the night, would you explain in more detail about Mr. Travis. Twelve left and only eleven came back, yet none of you appear concerned with his absence.”

“He is sure to make it back, sir.”

“That is what you have all been saying. Did you lose him across the water, or in England itself? If in England, then most likely he is sure to make it back. If it was in France, that becomes less likely.”

Drummond glanced to his left and right, looking for one of the others. They were all gone. “Um. He wasn't on the boat, so it must have been over there.”

“Was he captured?”

“Not to my knowing of it. No, sir.”

“Eventually you will all have to tell me what happened. Tonight, while I am at least half-drunk, might be your best opportunity.”

“He wouldn't come with us,” another voice said.

Kendale turned his head. Sean, Angus's older cousin, walked over and slammed his hand on the table. “We had the information. We were back on the coast. We are all getting on the damned boat, and that fool held back. Said he was going to find out if the Colonel had been posted in Brest or Dieppe, since we had heard both given. Said he would return in a week or so with the right port. I ordered him to get on the fucking boat, but he just turned and walked away. It was either shoot him or let him go, sir.”

“Sean here told him you would be most displeased,” Drummond hastened to say. “He said he had more right to see it through than we did, seeing as how he was at Toulon with you. Said he would find out where the bastard is or die trying.”

“Hell and damnation,” Kendale swore. “
Hell and damnation
. Why didn't you pick him up and throw him over your shoulder, Sean? You must be twice his size.”

“He had his pistol out and ready. I had mine too, of course. Like I said, it was shoot him or let him walk. Should I have shot him?”

Kendale fought his way to common sense through the foggy fury. “No.”

“Is possible he will find out,” Drummond said cheerily. “That would be a good thing, right? It would save time.”

More likely Mr. Travis would do something rash and heroic and get himself killed or captured. Kendale understood the man's determination to find some justice for that carnage in Toulon, but Travis could not control himself. They were not in the army any longer, however. He could not shoot a deserter from a troop of volunteers with no real duty to the mission.

“We must wait, it appears,” he said. “We will give him three weeks, maybe four. But no more.”

K
endale wiped his brow and lifted his sword again. Angus gave him a skeptical look.

“You sure you want to go on?”

“My weapon is raised, isn't it?”

“It has been on to two hours. Normally we do this an hour thereabouts.”

“Are you tired? Have I worn you down?”

“Not tired. Just working harder than normal and wondering why.” His expression cleared as if a thought had struck like lightning. “Ohhh.” He looked over his shoulder at the house, then smirked.

“You are younger than me and stronger so another hour should not even make you sweat,” Kendale said, not liking that smirk at all.

“Another hour?”
He spit on his hands and grasped his sword, mumbling.

“What was that, Angus? Did I hear you say something about a woman arriving and ruining me?”

“You must admit you have been in rare form today. Riding out at dawn, ordering the stables cleaned, rousing the men who were sleeping off last night's celebration. If she is not the reason, it makes me wonder what is.”

“There are things to do. Discipline here has been lacking.”

Angus muttered something else. It sounded like,
That woman in your bed is what has been lacking.

Kendale attacked. Steel met steel as they continued their dangerous dance.

Kendale did not lie to himself that he was winning at this exercise. At twenty-five, Angus had a good seven years on him, not to mention an inch in height and perhaps twenty pounds in weight. Fighting with swords was the kind of activity where such things mattered and there could be no equal skill as a result.

He threw himself into it and avoided calling a halt. If he stopped moving, stopped occupying his mind and body, he would get angry about Mr. Travis again. He would also become too aware of the presence in the house that filled the air he breathed. Even now, despite his own sweat, the vague scent of lavender entered his head.

She had not left her chamber since he told her to make herself scarce the day before. She certainly had not arrived at his chamber door last night. He knew she would not, but he had waited anyway, picturing her wrapped in a blanket that she dropped to reveal her body to him. He had her in his dreams, which did not make for a restful sleep.

Angus was right. That woman was ruining him.

Something caught Angus's eye and he stepped back, lowering his weapon. Retreating as well, Kendale saw Old Pete walking across the field where they sparred north of the garden wall.

“Letters, sir,” Pete called. “One looks to be in Jacob's hand. The other—well, I thought you should see it at once.”

He stabbed his sword into the ground and took the letters. Angus lay down on the ground and sucked in deep breaths. He enjoyed a moment of smug pride that his younger opponent had tired first. But then Angus did not have this hunger making him too restless to stand still, giving him energy that had no release.

He broke the seal of Jacob's letter. From his chambers across from Marielle's home, Jacob wrote that there was a man taking an interest in the house. He came and went, but he passed slowly at least four times a day. Should one of them follow to learn more?