The Love Affair of an English Lord (6 page)

“I hardly think we need to go that far,” she sputtered.

“No? Pity. Well, you do look fine to me. In the dark, at least. In the rain, too, as I recall.”

It was the oddest, most double-edged compliment Chloe had ever received, making her feel she was losing ground before she'd even gained her feet. Never had she encountered a man who poked so brazenly through the social curtain as this one did, except perhaps her own brothers.

“I happen to be prone to coughing spells,” she said.

He examined a scratch on his wrist, murmuring, “And to kissing ones, I hear. Behind parked carriages. Tsk, tsk, Lady Chloe.”

“How—” Chloe couldn't seem to find the breath to finish.

Dominic gave her a few seconds before he glanced up and studied her face. “Ah, good. Caught you out, did I? Well, your small social sins have nothing on my eventful past. So the young lady likes stolen kisses, does she? I shall have to remember that. For now, however, no female, even one fetching or as forward as you, will distract me from my purpose.”

“Really,” she said indignantly.

“It is my understanding you were exiled to Chistlebury for indecent conduct in the park.” He fixed her with a stern look. “In the middle of the afternoon. What
could
you have been thinking?”

Chloe was beyond outrage. She was actually quite impressed. First, by his devious means of gathering information. Second, that she'd ranked high enough in importance to rate an investigation. Unless, of course, he was criminally insane and would end up murdering her. The thought reawakened all her anxieties.

“How could you possibly—how
could
you have known about that incident?” she demanded. “I mean, why should my behavior matter in the least to a man I barely know?”

He traced his forefinger along the thin purple scar that crossed his chin. “I have made myself aware of every suspicious activity and person in this village, including you, during the course of my investigation to bring my killer to justice.”

“You can't think
I
had anything to do with the attack on you?”

“Of course not,” he conceded with a frown. “But you did arrive at roughly the same time.”

“It was a coincidence!” she said feelingly.

“Yes. Apparently an unfortunate one for you.”

He didn't need to remind her of the potential danger she faced. She had not drawn an easy breath from the moment she'd found him. She glanced at the door of the closet, then guardedly back at him. Her mind began putting pieces together. How could she be standing here so calmly in conversation with a . . . corpse? Only her etiquette-obsessed sister would find a graceful escape in this situation. Chloe's own impetuous tendencies were liable to make the whole thing worse.

“The killer,” she said, looking up at his shadowed face, “is that who you meant when you said someone chased you here?”

“Ah, so you are as curious as your brother. I shouldn't be surprised.”

She twisted her hands behind her back. Heaven knew she didn't want to set him off again, but . . . “You aren't going to stay here?”

“I'll stay only as long as is absolutely necessary. A day or two at most.”

“And you aren't going to . . .”

He hesitated, as if realizing in amused horror exactly what she feared. “Take advantage of you? Tie your frail thrashing limbs to the bedposts and seduce you in secret while the rest of your household snores the night away?” He paused in apparent contemplation of the delicious absurdity of such a situation. “Hmm. It wasn't part of my original plan, but one learns to adapt. Do you think we ought to give it a try?”

 

Chloe was virtually rendered speechless by the scenario he described. “You wouldn't dare,” she sputtered.

“Not unless you have an affinity for dead aristocrats.” He shook his head ruefully. “It never fails to amuse me how lascivious I have become in the afterlife.”

“You weren't exactly a saint in your living days, were you?”

He lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Neither a saint nor a sinner. I suppose I was—am—only human.”

“Why don't you leave?” she asked quietly.

“Because I am not certain that my pursuer has lost my trail.” Which was true. Finley, his astute gamekeeper, had chased Dominic practically to the creaking gates of Dewhurst Manor. The irony of it was that his loyal manservant believed he was pursuing his master's murderer, and Dominic was not yet free to enlighten him or enlist his help.

“Your personal dilemma is hardly my problem.”

“I'm afraid it is,” he said with a dark smile. “Besides, I will not be much of an inconvenience during my visit. I shall set up temporary headquarters in your closet. You will hardly even know I am here.”

“I doubt that with all my heart. Are you serious? Do you expect me to sleep in the room with you? Headquarters—I won't have it. I shall fetch my uncle. Shoot me in the back if you like.”

He rose from the stool and stepped in front of her in one fluid movement. His body blocked her from taking another step. “Then I shall have to fetch the authorities.”

She stared up at him, more confident now. “To explain that you broke into my room, rifled through my undergarments, and accosted me?”

He stared down at her face, her chiseled cheekbones and strong features. He wondered if it was those dark blue eyes of hers that had gotten her into so much trouble, smoldering with a passionate intensity few men could resist. There was danger in her challenging innocence. Why her? Why couldn't he have broken into the room of one of the dull Chistlebury misses who scurried like frightened little mice whenever he looked at them?

He decided to call her bluff. “I think the authorities would be less interested in the hysterical ravings of a young woman who claims to have been visited by a ghost than by information about our local highwayman.”

Chloe's temples began to throb. He couldn't possibly know what her cabbage-head brother had done. His investigation could not have been that detailed. “What highwayman?” she asked in a neutral voice. “I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about this time.”

“Well done.” He leaned his hip back against the dresser. “I am almost tempted to believe you. But, yes, I know everything, from the botched holdup in Chelsea to his recent crime in Chistlebury.”

“You were eavesdropping on my conversation.”

“Of course I was. It happens to be a very helpful habit. I assume you are determined to protect this black-sheep brother of yours?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Your loyalty is quite touching, really. I hope it is returned. You called a man's name when you opened the closet door. Devon, I think. I don't believe I have had the pleasure of meeting the young devil.”

“I want you to go away right now.”

He ignored her command and picked up the morocco leather journal he had just spotted on her dresser. “Even from the grave I have a fair amount of money at my disposal. I imagine I could repay his debts several times over and not miss the loss.”

She shot forward to rescue the journal from his large hands and stuff it under the bed. Fortunately, it was too dark for him to read her personal scribblings, but the mere suggestion of this rogue being privy to her innermost secrets was an intrusion she would not tolerate.

He watched her in amusement. “One should never record material of an intimate nature on paper.”

“One would assume a journal in one's own bedchamber would be safe from prying eyes.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you agree to help me, I might be able to save Devon from his apparent course of self-destruction. Even if the authorities turn a blind eye on his behavior, one of his victims might just decide to shoot him on the spot.”

The same fear had entered her uncle's mind. Devon was courting danger, if not death. “Are you striking a bargain with me?” she asked coolly.

And in an even cooler voice, he replied, “A bargain, yes, if you like.”

Chapter 5

“Blackmail.” Chloe's voice rang out in the shadows. “That's what I would call it.”

Before Dominic could respond, the conversation was interrupted by a
ping
-
ping
-
ping
that came from behind the closet door. The distinct sound of someone throwing dirt at the window from which Chloe had seen her chemise so provocatively dangled only an hour or so ago.

She stared across the room in an agony of indecision. It was impossible to pretend she did not hear the noise. Dominic clearly heard it, too, his thick black brows lifting in speculation. The disturbance could only be her irresponsible brother trying in his unsubtle way to get her attention.

If she ignored his summons, Devon, the reckless one, would either awaken the entire household or, worse, would decide blithely to climb into her window to find her. Another spray of dirt hit the window.

He would confront Stratfield. Disaster, possibly death, would result.

Dominic whistled through his teeth. “I suggest you take care of your visitor before the damn fool disturbs everyone in the house.”

Chloe pulled the silk robe together, not certain how much he could see of her in the dark. “And what do you suggest I tell him?” she whispered, her eyes narrowing.

He grabbed her arm, ignoring her gasp of outrage, and propelled her toward the closet, muttering, “Tell him the whole British army is watching the house. Tell him to stop robbing coaches! Tell him anything, but make him go away.”

“Good advice,” she retorted, shaking off his arm. “Perhaps you should take it yourself.”

He gave her a little push toward the window, still left open from his entry into her trunk. Chloe leaned over the sill, too benumbed really to feel the cool midnight mist shimmer over her burning face. She started as her chemise snagged in the wood.

She could not believe this was happening to her. To think she had yearned for adventure. To think she had half wished that day in the rain that Stratfield would whisk her away from her uneventful life and . . . have his way with her.

The cloaked figure in the garden shadows below was bending to snatch another clod of dirt to fling at her window. He straightened as he spotted her and broke into a grin.

“Oh, no,” she whispered in shock. Another character to add more chaos to her drama. She bit the edge of her lip and stared down at the man with whom she had danced and flirted outrageously only a few short hours ago. She had not believed him when he'd said he would not sleep until he saw her again. What an ignominious start to a love affair.

Dominic, pacing directly behind her, but not in view from outside, stopped and pivoted on his scuffed boot heels. His large frame bumped up against hers. “What is it?” he snapped.

She stiffened her shoulders at the hauteur in his voice. There was something disturbingly pleasant about the support of his body behind hers. “You know everything. Figure it out for yourself.”

He lifted the outer edge of the curtain only far enough to peer down into the garden. Then he began to curse under his breath. Chloe raised her eyebrow at him in chastisement. Of course, being a Boscastle, she had heard far worse. In fact, she'd uttered worse herself.

“That isn't your brother,” he said between curses.

Chloe smiled, rather enjoying his exasperation. “No, it isn't. It's Lord St. John.”

“What the hell is
he
doing here?” he demanded.

“How am I supposed to know?” she asked with an innocent look. “I only met him tonight.”

“Did you now?” he inquired in an icy tone.

“Yes, I did.”

“You and your corset must have made quite an impression.”

“Do you have something against romance, Lord Strat-field?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Chloe hesitated. “Well, some of us still believe in the possibility of love.”

“And some of us, having been murdered in our beds, are to be forgiven if we are cynical.”

“You cannot hold a grudge against the entire world,” she said softly.

He gave her a fierce look. “Why not?”

“Well, because—”

“Spare me your youthful idealism and get rid of your unwanted guest.”

“Which one?”

“Do not provoke me,” he growled.

Chloe glanced down into the garden with an enigmatic smile, which sent Dominic into another round of muttered curses.

“Get rid of him,” he said through his teeth.

“And how am I to do that?” she asked sweetly.

“Stop smiling down at him like a siren for one thing.” He studied the silhouette of her slender form in the moonlight, at the silk butterflies emblazoned on her curvaceous behind. “I suppose you kissed him, too,” he added in a dour voice.

She refused to dignify his insulting remark with an answer, although part of her realized that the situation did appear suspicious. A handsome young buck throwing dirt at her bedroom window this late at night. Dominic would never believe she had not invited him. Her brothers wouldn't have believed her either.

“None of this is my fault,” she thought aloud.

Dominic grunted.

“Well, it isn't,” she insisted, scowling at him over her shoulder. “I didn't invite him here any more than I did you.”

“Perhaps you ought to keep your windows closed,” he said in annoyance. “Tell me, are you expecting anyone else to visit you tonight? Should I prepare tea?”

“Only if you have to sail to China to get it.”

Dominic took another long look at her silk-draped figure before resuming his agitated pacing. Trust his luck to have a tart-tongued Helen of Troy be the one to discover he wasn't dead. This woman was trouble, which, as he recalled, seemed to be a family trait. Well, more trouble he didn't need. And yet here he was, in the thick of a murder plot, with the village siren and the village idiot on his hands, and his killer on the loose.

“Why couldn't you have fainted at my feet when you opened the closet door?” he asked her. “It would have spared us both a load of grief.”

She motioned him to silence with a wave of her hand. “Be quiet a moment.”

“What?” he said in astonishment.

“I cannot hear a word Justin is saying with you muttering away. I think he might be asking to marry me.”

Dominic stopped in his tracks, astonished at her sense of self-importance. Obviously she did not take his threat to her very seriously, which he suspected might have something to do with that kiss in the rain. He stared at her appealing figure, feeling an unwelcome flush of heat at her flirtatious voice.

Chloe leaned out farther, laughing as she whispered, “A reward? Hmm. What did you have in mind? And, no, of course I haven't forgotten you. What are you doing here?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Dominic muttered in disgust. “A clumsy seduction is under way. Let us all throw dirt at a maiden's window to win her heart. What? No dirt available? Then try duck eggs. Or billiard balls.”

Chloe glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Would you
please
be quiet?”

“Me?” Dominic said, his hand lifting to his chest. “Why don't you ask Romeo to do the same? He's the one making all the racket.”

“What are you saying, Chloe?” Justin called up in confusion. “I can't understand you at all. Why don't you come down in the garden so we can talk properly? I made up a poem in your honor.”

“A poem,” Dominic said, throwing up his hands. His head was spinning. His shoulder was bleeding. And he had to stand by and listen to the local moron spout poetry?

“I like poetry,” Chloe said under her breath.

“I don't,” Dominic snapped.

“Then leave,” she whispered as she braced her elbows on the sill. “Perhaps you had better come back in the morning, Justin.”

“The morning?” Justin echoed in disappointment. “Don't tell me I have to wait that long to see you again? I do not believe I can bear this, Chloe.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Dominic said darkly.

Chloe tapped her fingernails on the windowsill. “Three.” Then, “Oh, Justin, bring your poem after breakfast. I shall be in a better mood.”

Dominic scowled in the dark void behind her, his arms folded disapprovingly over his chest. Wasn't this a lovely situation? He could hardly help noticing the wistful catch in Chloe's voice. Nor, for that matter, could even a “dead” man such as himself overlook the suggestive draping of her body as she half dangled out the window to exchange whispers with her admirer.

Which brought him back to wondering about that corset on the bed again. He wasn't the least bit surprised that her brothers had sent her into social exile. Although a castle turret in the Italian Alps would probably not have provided enough isolation to keep this young lady out of mischief. She was too high-spirited and infused with Boscastle passion for her own good.

The mere fact that she had already attracted the interest of Justin, Lord St. John, Chistlebury's most eligible bachelor now that Dominic himself was dead, proved his point. Anyway, wasn't Justin supposed to be engaged to the Seymour heiress, a rather insipid twit who had trouble putting together a coherent thought? What the devil was the boy doing, luring the lovely exile Chloe down into the dark?

“I came all the way here to see you, Chloe.” Justin's voice was beguiling in the mist. “Can't you at least sneak outside for a few moments to talk to me?”

“Don't you dare agree to such an indecent demand,” Dominic said over her shoulder.

“Why shouldn't I?” She sounded indignant at his interference. “I'm agreeing to yours.”

The young lord in the garden below took a few steps back in alarm. “Is there another man in your room with you, Chloe?”

“Tell him there is,” Dominic said. “Tell him your lover is an extremely jealous foreigner who fights duels for a living.”

“Would you leave me alone?” she whispered angrily.

Justin stared up at her in suspicion. “What did you say? Did I just hear a man's voice?”

Chloe could just see all her hopes for a beautiful romance dissolving before her eyes. In the past she had been drawn to the wrong type of suitor; this seemed to be a trait that her sister-in-law, Jane, had gently pointed out might need to be tempered with a streak of common sense. Chloe secretly suspected that she had fallen into a depressive state since the deaths of her father and younger brother, Brandon. Sometimes she barely felt like living herself. She did not understand why she could not be satisfied as easily as her friends.

She did not mean to hurt her family or to ruin her name. But there were times when she didn't care. Brandon had been killed early last year, and her father had died of a heart seizure barely five months later, when the news of his son's death had reached his country house where he and Chloe had been entertaining. She had been the only other family member present. It had been a brutal shock, learning of Brandon's murder and witnessing her father's death in the same day.

Chloe had not completely recovered. She did not think she would ever recover. She could not say that she and her father had been close. He'd been a distant, hard man who'd withdrawn from his children after his wife's death eight years ago when Chloe was twelve.

Chloe's world had gradually turned gray, and getting into trouble had a strange way of making her feel alive. In a peculiar way she was a ghost, like the man holding her captive.

Both she and Dominic Breckland might be alive in the physical sense, but a vital part of their essence had been damaged, if not destroyed. Chloe could not explain why she felt even the slightest sympathy for a man who could ruin her entire life when any other young lady in her place would react with panic. But then perhaps she was accustomed to being shocked by her brothers. Chloe's family had always flaunted convention.

Which was why tonight she had been so proud of herself for attracting the interest of the lighthearted Justin at the country dance. He wasn't her sort at all. He came from a solid family, didn't drink or gamble, and, as far as she could tell, there did not appear to be a dangerous bone in his body, aside from his lack of judgment in coming here tonight. But passion, controlled, was not always a bad thing, was it?

Her brothers had sworn to see her settled down with an acceptable husband before the end of the year. There might be a chance for a serious match between her and Justin, if he turned out to be all that he appeared.

And if the sarcastic devil practically perched on her shoulder like a gargoyle did not ruin everything.

“It isn't a man, Justin,” she explained in a soft voice. “It's only my Uncle Humphrey.”

The mention of the stalwart baronet was apparently enough to dim Justin's hopes for a successful midnight seduction. He blew Chloe a string of kisses and promptly vanished into the mist, leaving Dominic to glare after him in satisfaction.