The Marquess (17 page)

“I suppose you are of the opinion that Blanche should
give up all that is hers to a man’s care, as if men were any better at
taking care of things than women.”

“In my experience, most people don’t take care
of what they ought, be they male or female. It would behoove a lady to choose a
careful man.” Gavin took his seat and watched her serve him the largest
slice of beef. He offered her the little new potatoes dotted with something
that smelled enticing. Matilda didn’t make efficient use of herbs.
Perhaps he should ask for the recipe.

“That’s an easy thing to say, coming from a
recluse like yourself. How is a woman to know if a man is careful until it is
too late?”

This was a ridiculous conversation. Snaring a piece of
potato, he answered, “By asking his friends, I assume.”

She gave him an irritated glance and didn’t interrupt
his meal again. Gavin could almost see the wheels of her brain clicking and
turning and smoking as he ate. When he was almost done, he said carefully, “If
you’re thinking of following me again, don’t.”

She glanced up at him with an innocent expression that
wouldn’t fool a fool. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As if she had said nothing, he continued. “Your duke
has the roads and the house watched. You would lead them directly to Lady
Blanche.”

She paled slightly and sipped at her tea. “Then,
they’ll know if you return her here. You can’t send her back.”

“I’m still not convinced your duke means her any
harm. That mob last night was meant as a distraction. Those farmers
wouldn’t have burned the Grange. They’ve never burned anything in
their lives. Somebody was behind it, somebody who no doubt meant to drive you
screaming from the house, but you had plenty of warning. You could see those
torches for miles. It wasn’t the same kind of attempt as before.”

The color still hadn’t returned to her cheeks, but
Gavin watched with a certain amount of fascination as she wrinkled her pert
nose in thought. She had the impish features of a thoughtless child, but he had
learned to respect the active mind behind them. She would make a terrible
sailor, never obeying orders if she disagreed with them, but as an officer
capable of thinking for herself... That was a silly speculation. Who would
listen to a half-pint termagant?

“What would they accomplish by driving us from the
house? Do you think they meant to kidnap Blanche?”

He’d considered that possibility. He’d kept a
careful eye and ear out for the instigators behind the mob. He knew little of
English accents, but he could tell which belonged here and which sounded
vaguely out of place. He had a good eye for character, too. Those with the odd
accents didn’t seem like farmer material to him. Had they been wearing
slouch hats and raccoon vests, he would classify them on the same level as the
two-bit outlaws he’d seen west of the Allegheny Mountains. Flat caps and
frock coats didn’t quite fit the image, but he reckoned English villains
dressed a little differently. That still didn’t mean they were
kidnappers.

With his plate empty, Gavin sat back and contemplated his
answer while sipping at his coffee. “I can’t imagine the duke
sending thugs like that to steal his cousin, unless, of course, he truly wished
her murdered. I have difficulty picturing proper English aristocrats dealing in
murder.”

Since she remained silent, Gavin assumed the lady had the
same reservations. He couldn’t imagine the lackluster creatures
he’d met over here even committing a crime of passion. The cold-blooded
murder of a beautiful young heiress seemed equally far-fetched. Since she
apparently waited for him to continue, he tried out one of his theories.

“Is there some possibility the duke might try
terrifying Lady Blanche into marrying him?”

Miss Whitnell made a wry grimace and shrugged. “I
believe him perfectly capable of murder. Terrorism wouldn’t surprise me.”

Gavin had seen the duke from a distance when Anglesey had
arrived in his fancy carriage. He couldn’t judge a man from that
distance. He hadn’t been impressed with the elegant clothes or the
duke’s youth or less than athletic physique. Pity he wouldn’t have a
chance to meet the man in person. But terrorism?

“Let me put it this way,” Gavin said cautiously.
“Would anyone have reason to believe Lady Blanche so easily terrified
that she might turn to her powerful relations for help?”

Miss Whitnell’s delightfully arched eyebrows rose with
this new perspective. “I should think not. No, definitely not. Blanche
has played simpleminded innocence for years for Neville’s benefit, but
even he must see that she has kept out of his clutches quite determinedly. He
no doubt blames much of it on me...” Her eyebrows rose even further. “Perhaps
he meant to terrify me!”

Gavin grinned. “Then, the man must have rooms to let
in his upper story, as Michael would say. Any man in his right mind would know
you would just get meaner and more stubborn if terrified.”

A perfectly enchanting grin tugged at the corner of her
mouth. Had Gavin not learned to protect himself against feminine wiles long
ago, that grin would have left him utterly annihilated. Even now, inured as he
was to feminine charms, he felt a tug at long dead heartstrings.

He understood his lust for the first female in a long time
that he’d encountered for any duration, but he didn’t like or
understand this other sensation. The obstinate Miss Whitnell wasn’t at
all the kind of woman he’d once admired.

Although—Gavin cocked his head and stared at the
ceiling as he remembered those long-ago days—he had always had a certain
inclination toward women with ample curves. He just didn’t credit most of
them with the same sort of brains that Miss Whitnell possessed, nor the same
sort of character, he had to admit.

The lovely, graceful swans of society he’d once
courted had the constancy of barn cats. Miss Whitnell showed her devotion to
her employer with every word and action. Perhaps this stirring of his insides
was merely admiration for her character. Her irritatingly obstinate character.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she admitted with
a smile. “Although it isn’t at all the thing for you to say so.
Neville would not be so foolish as to believe he could scare me into persuading
Blanche to marry him.”

“Which leaves us precisely where we were before. What
could they hope to accomplish by driving you from the house? Did you notice if
anything was disturbed? Did the servants guard the doors? Could anyone have got
in without notice?”

She stared at him wide-eyed as she worked her way through
his questions, then answered slowly. “They panicked so, I doubt the
servants paid much attention to the doors.” She dropped her voice as she
thought some more. “I really haven’t looked to see if anything was
disturbed. I’ve been too busy keeping them away from you. But certainly
Jenkins would have reported if anything were missing. Surely, you do not think
them common thieves?”

“Not common. Thieves do not ordinarily set mobs on a
household to drive them out. I just cannot quite find the connection between an
arsonist burning down an entire household and endangering all within and this
mob simply attempting to drive you from your home or terrify you into leaving.
It seems as if there may be two different purposes at work here.”

Miss Whitnell’s expression changed to one of
excitement. “Do you think possibly… if someone wanted to destroy
something in Blanche’s possession, they might have thought it kept in
town and so burned the house down to remove it? Now, for some reason, perhaps
they’re uncertain as to whether they accomplished their goal and wish to
verify this object is no longer with her?”

“That’s beyond far-fetched. It would be simpler
and less risky to simply steal the object in the first place. Do you have
reason to believe Lady Blanche possesses something of importance that anyone
would destroy dozens of lives to remove?”

She shrugged and frowned. “Blanche has access to
immense amounts of money, legal documents, family papers, any number of things,
not to mention the usual sort of jewels, objets d’art, and so forth. She
even keeps my father’s papers for me. She does not use the Grange much,
so most everything was kept in London or the village house. We have not even
begun to consider what was lost in the fire. Blanche’s safety came first.”

Gavin reluctantly admitted to himself that he had become
more involved in this tangle than he had ever intended. He wanted nothing more
than his privacy back. He had no desire to gallop about the countryside solving
a mystery without any clues. His own estate needed constant tending, and his
financial needs were much more dire than the Lady Blanche’s. Still, he
could not write her off as a useless parasite of society and condemn her to
arsonists and mobs as just deserts.

Damn it all, he would have to help them.

“I feel like a poacher,” Dillian muttered,
ducking under a low-lying branch near the wall she climbed across.

“You look like a poacher,” the marquess responded
agreeably. “The homespun smock is an artistic touch, if I do say so
myself. Far better than that blue monstrosity you wore here.”

“I’d rather be an unfashionable dandy than a
poacher, thank you.” Besides, the smock itched despite the linen chemise
she wore under it. She didn’t feel inclined to tell the wretch that,
however. He occupied himself entirely too much with watching how she got about
in these ghastly boy’s breeches. She couldn’t very well bind her
hips as she did her breasts. Even the ill-fitting smock barely disguised what
she couldn’t flatten. Thank heavens the marquess was not the kind of man
who acted upon his lusts. She would make certain he only drank coffee and not
liquor in her presence.

She would make certain
she
didn’t drink liquor
when he was about. Those unsettling dark eyes made her quiver like no other
man’s had. She didn’t like being stared at. Or she hadn’t
until this infuriating man came along.

“How will we keep Neville’s men from seeing us?”
she asked, more to divert her own thoughts than with any real desire to know
his nefarious plans.

“What difference does it make if they do see us? They
don’t know who we are. They can’t follow everyone who comes along
the road. Just keep your hat pulled down over your face and slump a little if
we meet anyone. They’re looking for you or Lady Blanche, not a Yankee and
a poacher.”

He looked the part of a Yankee well enough, wearing that
same ridiculous coat and hat as before. He looked the part of a dangerous
Yankee, if the truth be told. He ought to have a pistol in his belt and a rifle
in his hand. Neville’s men would stay clear of him, for a certainty.

“How much farther until we reach the horses?”

“I’ve stabled them in the next village. Cutting
across these fields is fastest and will throw off any pursuit. If we’re
fortunate, the duke’s men believe you’re holed up in the Grange and
terrified out of your mind.”

Dillian made a snorting noise. “Neville won’t
believe such idiocy. I’ve been ever so polite to him for years, but he
still calls me a dragon.”

The marquess gave a muffled laugh as he reached the road and
held back the shrubbery to help her through. “A fine dragon you’d
make. Insufferable mosquito, I allow, but you could scarcely swallow a gnat
whole.”

“Oh, you’re a fine one to make jokes about
appearances, my Lord Beast. I suppose you think you fit the fire-breathing
dragon description, don’t you? I saw you with your fine sword last night.
You didn’t remove a single head.”

“I’m not inclined toward beheading misinformed
farmers. I saw enough of that in the war. Blood and guts do not make a pretty
sight; I’ll thank you to remember that the next time you want me to run a
man through. Just because I look a beast doesn’t mean I need behave like
one.”

“On the contrary, you behave more like a beast than
look like one. I think you like skulking in corners and behind hoods. I think
you are inherently antisocial and use your appearance as an excuse to hide.”

His laugh this time was mirthless. “What a busy little
mind you have. Have you ever considered the effect on society should I
introduce myself as a captain in the U.S. navy? I daresay I have turned cannon
on any number of British man-o’-wars in past years. That should make me a
welcome member of society, particularly since I have no wealth with which to
distract them.”

Dillian followed him down the road, keeping pace with his
longer legs only because he amended his stride to suit hers. She gave him a
surreptitious look, but in the darkness and with his hat pulled over his face,
she could see little of his expression. “With a title, you could no doubt
attract a wealthy cit. Many families would pay a great deal to call their
daughters marchionesses, as long as you’re not interested in marrying
into the aristocracy.”

“I am very definitely not interested in marrying into
the aristocracy. I am not interested in marrying at all. I have no desire to
marry for wealth and spend the rest of my years avoiding my loving wife’s
look of horror every time she turns her head toward me, thank you very much. And
that’s quite enough of this conversation.”

His stride picked up pace, leaving Dillian practically
running after him. Neville didn’t consider her a dragon for naught. Once
she dug her teeth in, she didn’t let go. She didn’t mean to let go
now. “How did you come to be raised American if you were in line for a
title?”

That brought another of his humorless laughs. “They
ran out of male heirs and got desperate, I suppose. I was never supposed to be
a marquess. Had the family any choice, I would not even be a Lawrence, but my
father and grandfather very properly married their doxies once they got them
with child. My branch of the family never held a very high opinion of
aristocracy and bloodlines. Actually, they never held a very high opinion of
the law of any kind. You really don’t want to know more.”