The Love Affair of an English Lord (19 page)

Chapter 16

Two days later Lord Devon Boscastle strolled up the steps of his brother Grayson's Park Lane mansion. It was the first time Devon had been officially welcomed home since his public disgrace. The distinguished Boscastle head footman, Weed, ushered him into the drawing room with a warm smile.

A battalion of servants was preparing to close up the house for the marquess's stay at his country estate. The housekeeper, Mrs. Soames, brought Devon a thick wedge of raspberry pie and dabbed her eyes at the sight of him. A pair of parlormaids made a point of plumping the cushions before he lowered his backside onto the sofa.

The black sheep was formally embraced back into the bosom of the family. As ridiculous as it seemed, Devon felt a sense of overwhelming gratitude and relief to be welcomed home. This brood might behave badly at times, but there was always a sense of acceptance and warmth among them, and the worst sins were eventually forgiven.

His sister Emma swept into the room a few minutes later, her curly apricot-gold hair drawn back from her finely boned face. If there was any lecturing to come, it would be from her, he thought with an inward groan. Emma, the Dainty Dictator, she of the sprite's form and warlord's lack of mercy. The young widow who had buried her husband and opened her own Scottish academy to train untamed maidens on the path of the social straight and narrow. She was currently staying with their brother Heath until she decided where she would set up permanent residence.

“Devon,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back to examine him.

“Emma.” He stood to embrace her. “How charming you look.”

“Do I?” She leaned back a little to study his face, not at all moved by his flattery. “Fair warning, Devon. Gray has called a family cabal to discuss our crisis. Battle plans are being drawn. An attack is imminent.”

His blue eyes clouded. “I thought I was forgiven—”

“Not you, silly.” She shook her head in chagrin. “It's Chloe. What a man does to his reputation is one thing, but a young lady is another matter altogether. Grayson is of the opinion, and I cannot disagree with him, that Chloe will continue her unhappy behavior until she has settled down in marriage.”

Devon examined the watercolor of a Scottish landscape above the fireplace. “Have you never given in to a foolish impulse even once in your life, Emma?” he asked curiously.

“Of course I have.”

“What?” he teased. “You wore pearls to church?”

“Why?” she asked, folding her slender arms, “does everyone assume I am a paragon?”

He tugged the pale curl that fell against her cheek. “Perhaps because you are?”

She grinned. “I should teach you all a thing or two. I think I could probably set London on its ears if I gave in to my true self.”

“Do it, Emma,” he said as a knock sounded at the door. “It's almost time for a new family scandal.”

 

Lord Heath Boscastle gazed out the window as the rest of his family assembled in the private drawing room. He knew the reason he had been summoned, knew that he held the deciding vote on Chloe's future. For once he wished that things could be as simple as they appeared on the surface.

He wished he could believe that Chloe had met a decent young man and that love appeared, as Devon believed, to be in the cards for his beautiful little sister.

Could it be that easy? he wondered, his dark blue eyes cynical. Send the wayward young woman to the country for several weeks or so and, voilà, she meets the aristocrat of their dreams, and all her demons are subdued.

Possible, but not likely. Not for a Boscastle, at least.

His older brother Grayson, the Marquess of Sedgecroft, took a seat on the blue tufted sofa, his leonine presence indicating the cabal was about to proceed. He had always reminded Heath of a medieval prince, blond, confident, eager for action. Drake and Devon, dark-haired and restless with abundant energy, preferred to stand at either side of the sofa, as if they might bolt at the first opportunity.

Emma, the widowed Viscountess Lyons, sat alone by the fire in a high-backed tapestry chair, a notebook and pen in her lap. Heath worried about her future as much as he did Chloe's. A fair young widow was easy prey for the wrong man.

Emma glanced around the room. “Isn't your wife joining us, Grayson?” she asked in concern.

Grayson grinned a little sheepishly. “She hasn't decided whether she could in good conscience join a family conspiracy behind Chloe's back.”

Drake gave a deep appreciative laugh. “Jane being a victim of a similar conspiracy herself?”

Grayson pretended to take offense. He and Jane had married not long ago, after a courtship that had been more a battle of wits than tender wooing. The lovely honey-haired marchioness was probably the only woman alive who could keep her husband in line. And have him love her for it. “Are you saying that marriage to me is something of a punishment?”

“Being your brother is,” Devon said feelingly. “At least at times.”

Emma cleared her throat. “May we proceed with the matter at hand? You, Devon,” she said, inclining her pen in his direction, “please tell us your opinion of Chloe's young man.”

Devon hesitated, as if he felt that to share this information might be a betrayal of his younger sister. “I don't exactly know what Chloe thinks of him—she wasn't quite herself when I last saw her. Perhaps that is a symptom of true love.”

“What is
your
opinion of him?” Heath asked.

Devon shrugged. “I don't know him well at all. Justin and I met at a shoot a few summers ago. He seemed all right, didn't he, Drake?”

Drake shook his head. “A bit spoiled, arrogant as I remember.”

“Are you discussing my husband?” a feminine voice teased from the door. “Or would this personage be any of his brothers?”

Heath glanced up with a grin at his sister-in-law. “Do come in, Jane. You'll bring a fresh perspective to our debate.”

The Marchioness of Sedgecroft entered the room, her gaze going straight to her husband, who, along with the other men present, had risen at the sound of her voice. “I daresay my opinion will not be welcome. I have never made a secret of the fact I disapproved of banishing Chloe in the first place.”

“Very well,” Heath said, guiding her by the elbow to a chair. “You shall be the single voice of dissent.”

Drake smiled. “The voice of reason.”

Jane came to a halt and laughed. “Then let me say from the start I shall
not
sanction any more of my husband's sneaky and heavy-handed tactics in regard to holy matrimony.”

“Heavy handed?” Heath said, barely suppressing a chuckle.

“Sneaky?” Grayson looked genuinely affronted. “I prefer to think I proved the desperate lengths to which a man in love can be driven.” Everyone present knew he was referring to the fact that he had tricked Jane into marrying him.

“Which brings us back to the subject,” Emma said. “Does this young man
love
Chloe? Is he a match worth pursuing?”

“More to the point,” Jane said, arranging her rose-pink skirt around her ankles, “is whether this is a match worthy of a clandestine marriage contract made at midnight in a parked carriage?”

There was only a moment of silence as the family remembered how Grayson had turned the tables on his devious Jane during the turbulent days of their courtship.

“Darling,” Grayson said, his gaze openly adoring, “are you complaining?”

She gave him an intimate smile.

Emma shook her head in chagrin. “If I have any say in this, there will not be another cause for notoriety. Shall we introduce ourselves to this brave young man? Drake? Grayson?”

Grayson's broad forehead creased in a frown. “There can't be many chances for misconduct in Chistlebury.”

“How does the old saying go?” Jane asked her husband. “'An idle mind is the devil's workshop?'”

Grayson laughed. “Why do you look at me when you quote that?”

She smiled again. “Experience, my love.”

Drake glanced over at Devon. “Is it safe to wait to make a decision?”

“This young man hasn't formally made a proposal,” Emma pointed out. “I hope they haven't decided to elope.”

“I don't remember Chloe flirting with anyone at Dominic's funeral,” Grayson said thoughtfully.

“Only because she wasn't there to flirt,” Heath said. “She was unwell on that day as I remember. From what I understand, they have not found Dom's murderer yet. Sir Edgar wrote me that he suspects a dishonored soldier or sailor. Strange. The whole thing is entirely strange and disturbing. I suppose I should offer to help Edgar.”

“Flirting at the poor man's funeral,” Emma said, incensed at the very notion. “I should hope not. What has happened to this family in my absence?”

Grayson settled back against the sofa. “Aunt Gwendolyn says that this St. John is the most eligible bachelor in the parish.”

“He's probably the only bachelor,” Devon said. “The village must boast a population of twenty-five.”

“Perhaps I shall ride down to introduce myself,” Grayson said.

“Scare him off like a field mouse is more like,” Jane murmured. “I do recall how you frightened off her poor cavalry officer with your shouting in the pavilion at that breakfast party.”

Heath looked over at Drake. “Whatever happened to that baron who kissed Chloe behind the carriage?”

“I believe he's been silent about the whole affair,” Drake replied. “Considering the circumstances, he probably considers himself fortunate that Grayson did not kill him.”

“I say we should wait another fortnight to decide Chloe's fate.” Heath stroked his upper lip. “Something may change by then.”

Grayson shrugged. “That's reasonable.”

Emma nodded. “Waiting is often the wisest course—anything to avoid another wedding scandal. It would be the absolute end of us.”

Grayson stared across the room at his elegant green-eyed wife. “I don't know about that, Emma. A wedding scandal was the start of a very happy life for me.”

Chapter 17

Two uneventful days had passed since Aunt Gwendolyn's ghostly sighting in her garden. True to her word, Chloe's aunt had managed to keep her secret. She had not managed to curb her curiosity, however. From her window Chloe had spotted the woman skulking about the rosebushes several times late at night. What her aunt planned to do with Dominic if she caught him was anyone's guess. The irony was that she and Chloe both wanted to get their hands on the same elusive devil and subdue his restless spirit.

“If you find our ghost,” Chloe whispered from the windowsill as she gazed out in the dark, “give him my best wishes, won't you?”

It had not escaped her notice that Dominic had deserted her again without making any promises for their future whatsoever. Even if he managed to see through his dangerous scheme, she could not be sure where they would stand. She wondered what their wild night of passion had meant to him. His body may have healed, but his mind was still at the mercy of his demons.

Would she find that their association had been built on nothing more than a man's desperation and a strange series of events? Certainly there would be no easy way to explain to her family how she and Dominic had become involved with each other. Chloe could not let him take all the blame.

There was no guarantee that he would not end up truly dead from his game of vengeance, and that these other fears of hers would never even have a chance to come to pass. She told herself she should be glad he'd refused to draw her any deeper into his perilous scheme. She should appreciate his stubborn resolve to protect her. None of which changed how she felt about the infuriating man.

There were times such as tonight when she stood at her window and swore she could feel him watching her; her skin would tingle with anticipation.

At other times the sensation of being observed became unpleasant and intrusive, and she wondered whether Edgar was gazing out into the evening woods as she was, both of them searching for the man who haunted them.

“I know you are there, Dominic,” she said with a heavy sigh as she closed the curtains for the night. “I hope your enemy is not as aware.”

 

Could Chloe be deliberately taunting him? Dominic wondered from the leafy embankment of the wood that concealed his presence. Did she guess that he was ready to break into her room and damn the consequences? Was she trying to lure him again, or was that idiot Justin courting her in the dark?

If he had the opportunity, he was going to teach Justin a thing or two for trying to tempt Chloe. Not that Dominic had any objection to tempting her himself, but he would fight to deny any other man the privilege. Especially after she had given herself to him the other night. She belonged only to him, and when his affairs were in order, he would make sure the entire world knew it. He would never be forced to leave her again.

He smiled at the image of her in the telescope. He could see her silhouette behind the lace curtains; her unstudied movements made him feel breathless, weak and powerful at the same time. He remembered the milky texture of her skin, the throaty gasp she had given when he had thrust into her strong body, the fragrance of her, the bruised look in her eyes when he'd forced himself to leave her room.

He lowered the telescope with regret. He could torture himself all he desired at another time. This evening a far more unpleasant task awaited him. Edgar had been exploring the areas around the estate late at night recently, and Dominic wondered why.

Was his uncle meeting someone? Or had he begun to suspect that he was under surveillance? Had he realized that the house he claimed as his inheritance did indeed have a very active ghost? Edgar might even be planning a quiet escape. He had friends and valuable property in India. An Englishman could live as a king in a foreign land.

Dominic debated whether to follow him on his nocturnal explorations or to take the chance of examining Edgar's personal papers while he was gone. The possibility of a trap always existed, that his uncle had begun to sense he might not have been as successful in his plans as he assumed.

Edgar might even have begun to believe in ghosts.

 

The day of the picnic dawned fair but not overly warm. Chloe dressed in a cloud-blue woolen walking dress with a fringed paisley shawl and soft leather half boots. Beneath her beribboned straw bonnet, her eyes were reflective. Both her anxieties and foolish hopes had been awakened when she'd realized that the picnic would be held not far from the abandoned mill house where Dominic went when he was desperate to escape his confinement. Of course, he would not make a public appearance at a picnic. She had little chance of seeing him today.

Even so, she hoped for a sign of him as she and her family rode through the oaks and beeches that formed a leafy canopy of branches overhead. The hedges burst with clusters of wild white roses. At last the parish church and thatched cottages fell behind, and the pleasant sounds of birdsong competed with the clatter of carriage wheels and conversation. For the first time Chloe realized that she was missing London less and less, that her own unruly nature had begun to take root in this unlikely setting.

“Chloe,” her aunt called back meaningfully as they rode over a sturdy footbridge toward the millhouse, “keep an eye out, won't you?”

She turned her head. “An—”

Her aunt gave her a dark smile. An eye out for a certain irksome ghost was obviously what she meant. As if Chloe were not already obsessed with searching for the smallest sign that Dominic was still alive. Hadn't he mentioned that there were tunnels, honeycombs of underground passages in this area, hidden vaults where smugglers had stashed their loot?

A jolt of excitement chased up her spine. Was it possible that he was lurking in the depths of the very earth beneath her? What a thought, to imagine herself riding right over his hiding place. It was intriguing to picture him in some underground labyrinth plotting to bring his enemy to justice. Chloe and the entire Boscastle family's enemy, if it was true that Sir Edgar had been involved in Brandon's death. The idea conjured up images of Dominic in dark and strangely seductive terms. Of Hades and Persephone, and their underworld love affair. How frightening to think that the French could attack the sleepy villages of Britain from subterranean burrows. She was suddenly glad of the sacrifices her brothers had made to protect the country from invasion.

Yet on such a mild day, with the peaceful setting disturbed only by frivolous chatter and the distant tatting of a spotted woodpecker, Chloe could almost convince herself that none of it was real. Her personal dilemma might have been something she'd dreamed. Could any man be so wholly evil as Sir Edgar? Could a man betray his country, commit murder, and calmly go on with his life? She knew the answer in her heart.

Evil occurred every day, but she was young, and her instincts ran to thoughts of life not to death or sadness. She had lost both her parents and her brother. She did not want to dwell on such unsettling things during a picnic.

The picnic goers, who included most of Chistlebury's gentry, competed in a boisterous one-legged race and an ugly-face contest. Despite her worries, Chloe managed to enjoy herself, and to her surprise she even began to relax as she, Justin, and a circle of young people drank spiced ale in silver cups and toasted one another with outrageous compliments.

And then she noticed Uncle Humphrey look up with a sharp frown as a distinguished-looking horseman crossed the footbridge to the grassy clearing behind the millpond. Sir Edgar had arrived with a manservant who retreated into the background with the horses.

The tall and darkly elegant Edgar looked enough like Dominic from a distance that Chloe's heart twisted in wistful longing. Older, more restrained, such an unpleasant reminder of pain and loss that she felt as though a cold shadow were moving over her.

“Have I missed the fun?” he called out. Without waiting for a reply, he strode to the trestle table where she sat with Pamela, another young woman, Justin, his brother Charles, and Justin's elderly aunt.

“We're just going off on a treasure hunt for Miss Redmond's glove,” Justin said with a friendly smile. “Would you like to join us?”

Sir Edgar laughed, his black brows lifting. “Compared to the rascals I have chased down in my career, it is indeed tempting to enjoy such a frivolous pursuit. What does this missing glove look like?”

“It's butter-yellow leather with tiny pearl buttons,” Pamela answered.

Sir Edgar glanced down at Chloe, his smoky eyes uncertain. “Is there a prize for finding this lost treasure?”

Charles held up his hand. “A bottle of my aunt's famous blackberry wine.”

“And Miss Redmond's eternal appreciation,” Justin added with a grin, motioning to the laughing young lady at the table behind them.

There was an hour time-limit set on the hunt, and the afternoon had turned cool as the sun lowered behind the trees. Chloe and Justin had partnered off, but separated when he had an impulse to go off to the pond's edge and search among the reeds and cattails for the treasure.

“I'm not ruining my shoes and stockings for Georgina's glove,” Chloe called after him with a slight shiver. Her shawl was too thin for the damp chill.

“We could drink the blackberry wine together, Chloe,” he said, a dimple showing in his cheek.

“Not if you drown, Justin.”

“I'm not going to drown.”

Chloe frowned. She had no intention of venturing into either the cold murky water or the overgrown woods to hunt for a silly glove. Somewhere in the stand of long sessile oaks she heard Pamela giggle, and the carefree joy of the sound brought a smile to her face. At least one of them was still enjoying the afternoon, and Chloe might have, too, if there hadn't been such a cloud of dark worry hanging over her head. She missed Dominic, could not be completely at ease without knowing where he was or what he was doing.

She watched Justin wading between the straggly reeds for a few minutes before she turned, her patience at its limit.

The mill tower stood behind her, abandoned and compelling.

“The perfect place to hide a treasure,” she thought aloud.