The Marquess (22 page)

“It is a shadow world.” Dillian gratefully took
the pitcher of water Verity carried in. Within instants, she had the filthy tunic
and breeches off and scrubbed her skin with the delicately scented soap Blanche
used. She wondered if Verity had thought to bring this with her clothes or if
Blanche had requested it of O’Toole, but she didn’t ask.

She regarded the relationship between her cousin and the
footman warily, but she knew better than to tread on uncertain ground without
looking before she stepped.

They discussed the events at the Grange as Dillian washed
and donned the robe Verity found for her. Neither of them indicated any
surprise when the peremptory knock echoed on the bedroom door.

“Here comes our eviction notice,” Dillian sighed
as Verity hurried to let in the marquess and O’Toole.

Carrying a candle, Gavin nearly retreated from the
bedchamber and slammed the door on the seductive sight within. If nothing else
proved he had wandered too long from civilization, his reaction to one
extremely feminine figure in a silken robe did. Not only did blood rush to his
groin, but his palms broke into a sweat and his heart raced with an unseemly
beat. He blew out the candle.

It didn’t matter. He still could focus only on that
one slender beam of white in the darkness. He smelled the soap she had used to
wash, damn it all. His mind had taken leave of his senses.

He’d had his share of women in the past. There had
once been a time when he could have just crooked his finger and had any number
of them at his feet. Their heady perfumes hadn’t loosed his brains, but
one whiff of this termagant’s soap, and he was ready to crawl on hands
and knees and beg for more.

That thought didn’t appease his already black mood.

“All right, Michael, have it out. Our agreement was to
check the security of the Grange and send the ladies home. Once we verify the
guards at the gate are doing their job, the Grange should be safe enough. You
can accompany their carriage to reassure yourself, if that’s the problem.”

Gavin noticed with interest that Lady Blanche had drifted to
the corner closest to Michael, but he didn’t speculate on that. Michael
had never shown much interest in women, and they generally returned the favor.

The lady no doubt sought to get as far from Gavin as she was
able, and in so doing ended in Michael’s corner. If he thought she could
see his scowl, he would turn it on her and drive her screaming from the place.
With any luck, the noisy baggage she called companion would follow.

With only two chairs and a bed for seating, they were one
too many. Michael gallantly offered Lady Blanche a chair while Dillian
appropriated the bed.

Gavin could scarcely tear his gaze away as he realized she
meant to sit cross-legged among the covers, pulling the thin silk of her robe
around her. He couldn’t keep from staring at the juncture where her legs
must meet beneath the robe.

She darted a gaze in his direction and more discreetly
curled her legs under her. For good measure, she tugged a blanket around her
waist. Gavin gave a mental gasp of relief but refused the remaining chair. He
crossed his arms over his chest and watched Michael lean back against the table
in his favorite storytelling posture.

As Michael spoke, Gavin contemplated the thickness of the
rope and the number of turns he would make in it as he wrapped the noose around
his brother’s throat and hung him from the highest yardarm. The situation
Michael had embroiled them in was tense enough without complicating it further.

“My lady,” Michael nodded respectfully in
Blanche’s direction, “you will forgive me for questioning your
companion, but if I am to protect you, I must know the truth.”

When Blanche offered no objection, he turned toward Dillian.
“Miss Reynolds Whitnell?”

The figure in white merely stared at him, waiting for more.

“The servants call you Miss Reynolds, but your
employer calls you Whitnell. I assume both names are yours?”

“Assume what you like,” Dillian replied.

Gavin sensed the tension forming in Michael’s
seemingly idle posture. His brother played the part of devil-may-care Irishman
to the hilt, but he was no more Irish than he was careless. Their lives had
often relied on Michael’s keen wits and acting ability.

Gavin doubted if anyone ever saw the real man beneath his
brother’s facade. Sometimes he doubted if he even knew him. That might be
the reason he’d never strangled him.

Michael stared at the ceiling as he spoke. “I will
assume both names are yours through your family. Since Whitnell is the one you
hide, I assume that is the one most people would recognize. Lady
Blanche’s mother was a Reynolds.”

Gavin had the amazing feeling the air in the room had just
frozen to ice. He watched both women. Neither moved an inch. Neither responded.
Michael continued as if he hadn’t expected a response.

“Lady Blanche’s father had a bosom companion in
the military, a certain Colonel Whitnell. From all reports, the two men were so
inseparable that they died together at Waterloo.”

Perhaps he imagined it, but Gavin thought he saw the
termagant’s shoulders wilt just a little. Having kept himself absent from
company for so long, perhaps he had become alarmingly sensitive to the moods of
others. The ice in the room seemed to drip with sorrow.

Michael turned to Lady Blanche. “I am trying to help
you. Your secrets won’t go beyond this room. But if I’m to stay one
step ahead of your enemies, I must know more than they do.”

Lady Blanche began to speak, but Dillian overrode her. “What
can a mere footman do? Don’t be presumptuous. We’re perfectly fine
here. We will pay our way if the marquess is willing to wait until the funds
are available. You need not know anything else.”

Gavin considered stepping in to protect his brother from the
lady’s shriveling tongue, but Michael scarcely needed protection. He
crossed his arms in a stance similar to Gavin’s own and said without
inflection, “The duke has investigators searching for the relatives of
Colonel Whitnell and is even now verifying that Lady Blanche’s mother and
Colonel Whitnell’s wife are sisters. Obviously, the various branches of
your respective families are not very close.”

Lady Blanche responded with a sigh, “They did not even
speak. Neville’s family stayed in London and disapproved of everything my
father did, probably with some cause. Neville never had reason to know anything
of my mother. The fact that she was a Reynolds was scarcely a family secret.
She came from a respectable family. He just never put two and two together
before. Why does he do so now?”

“Blanche!” Dillian exclaimed with irritation. “You
have no reason to tell him any of this.”

Gavin watched with amazement as the fragile lady turned her
chin up in defiance at her older cousin’s admonishments.

“He is trying to help, Dillian. We cannot do it all on
our own. If I choose to trust him, it is my decision.”

Apparently so astounded she couldn’t reply, Dillian
actually held her tongue. Gavin gave both women credit for good sense. He
couldn’t remember ever giving a woman other than his cousins credit for
sense of any kind. Perhaps the English were a different breed, after all.

“Thank you, my lady,” Michael answered, throwing
Gavin a quick look. When he received no support from that quarter, he continued,
“Rumors of treason are currently circulating London connected with the
name of Whitnell. If the relationship between the colonel and Lady
Blanche’s father is a close one, then the tar can spread. We
wouldn’t wish that to happen, would we?”

Gavin watched with more than a little amazement and delight
as the termagant on the bed erupted into a towering inferno of rage.

“That’s not true!” The blanket went flying
as she leapt to her feet. “My father died for his country! He damned well
lived for his country! He would never do such an obscene thing. They lie! Tell
me who says such tales, and I’ll....”

Since the lady seemed prepared to beat the information out
of Michael, who offered no defense, Gavin thought it prudent to intrude.
Stepping forward, he grabbed Miss Whitnell by the waist and hauled her against
him.

Gavin knew his mistake at once. An armful of warm squirming
female flesh nearly drove him to the brink right here in front of all and
sundry.

Rather than drop her as he ought, he jerked her up against
his chest until her squirming suddenly halted. Perhaps the heat burning through
him singed her sufficiently to recognize her danger. When he looked down, he
met her eyes staring upward. He didn’t see fear in them, but in the
darkness, he didn’t try reading what he saw there. He lowered her to the
floor now that she had quieted.

“Attacking your defender is not very sensible, my dear
Miss Whitnell,” he murmured in a tone that surprised even him. He could
feel the others staring, but the fact that Dillian didn’t back away held
his interest more.

“I will not have my father maligned,” she
replied in a voice that strove for dignity but was not quiet steady.

“And so we will not. We merely seek the truth. Rumors
do not circulate without reason. What would someone gain from maligning your
father’s name?”

She backed off, steering a wide path around Michael to sit
on the edge of the bed. “My father made enemies as freely as he made
friends. He had a rather forceful nature.”

Which he evidently passed on to his daughter, Gavin added to
himself. His silence forced her to continue. Michael and Lady Blanche left the
conversation to them.

She clasped her arms around her as if to keep from
shivering. “I can’t think of anything anyone would gain other than
venting their anger. And what is the point of that now that he’s dead?
And what does any of this have to do with Blanche?”

Michael finally spoke. “Perhaps it has nothing to do
with Lady Blanche. Perhaps it has to do with you.”

The room fell silent. The lady rose from her corner chair to
sit beside her cousin, hugging her awkwardly. Dillian didn’t seem to want
the comfort but sat still for it. Gavin noticed she turned her gaze to him
instead of Michael. He didn’t want her turning to him. He didn’t
want any part of this. He retreated into the darkest corner beside the door and
let Michael handle it.

“They burned Blanche’s home to get at me?”
Dillian finally asked, not hiding the incredulity in her voice.

Blanche entered the argument. “That doesn’t make
sense. Everyone there knew Dillian as Miss Reynolds, a distant relation of my
mother’s. They had no reason to associate her with Colonel Whitnell.”

“It didn’t take me two minutes to figure out the
relationship,” Michael answered dryly. “Someone desperate enough to
burn down a house full of people is quite capable of seeing through such a thin
disguise. Why is it you felt compelled to hide the connection?”

Gavin noted with interest the way the two women looked at
each other first before sending some silent communication that nominated
Dillian as the one to reply.

“For several reasons, none of which have anything to
do with this. As we said before, Neville’s father disapproved of
everything Blanche’s father did. My father’s friendship was
undoubtedly one of them. My father had a certain . .. notoriety. He came of
good but not wealthy family. The hussars are a rather expensive regiment. His
manner of supporting himself came into question upon occasion, but as far as I
am aware, he never did anything dishonest.”

Gavin wanted to know how her father managed to support a
wife and daughter, but Michael intruded first.

“He gambled,” he said flatly.

Dillian nodded and said defensively, “Everyone does.”

“Could he have left creditors of which you’re
unaware?” Gavin surprised himself by asking that. He knew too well about
creditors.

Dillian sat still as she contemplated the answer. “It’s
possible, I suppose. I didn’t see my father often, and he certainly never
discussed his business affairs with me. He’s been dead for some years,
however. Why should anyone wait until now to seek revenge?”

“Because they have only now returned to the country.
Because they have only now discovered who you are. There could be any number of
answers. Who was your father’s man of business? Would he hold any notes
without telling you of them?”

“My father handled his own business, not that there
was much of it. He spent everything he ever earned. I didn’t see anything
that looked like notes in his papers.”

Michael suddenly straightened. “You have his papers?
Where?”

Gavin expected the response to be they burned with
Blanche’s house. Instead, she shrugged and said, “Probably in
London. I didn’t know what to do with them, and I got tired of hauling
them about.”

Blanche nodded. “You asked me to put them in the
vault, if I remember, but there wasn’t enough room for all those old
journals. So we sent some of them over to Mr. Winfrey. We should have asked him
to have them evaluated to see if they had any worth, but it didn’t seem
important at the time.”

Gavin could just imagine Michael’s eyes rolling
skyward. He had the urge to shake both women himself. Military men didn’t
collect books and papers and carry them about if they had no value. His fingers
fairly itched to rifle through them.

Michael answered with some semblance of control. “We
need to see those papers. Did you not look at any of them?”

Blanche threw her cousin a swift look and replied, “Well,
they didn’t seem any of my business, and Dillian”—she sent
her cousin another look—”Dillian doesn’t have a fondness for
paperwork.”

Gavin rather suspected that was the understatement of the
year. Dillian might climb the roof of a burning house or play ghost in
abandoned dumbwaiters, but she wouldn’t be much inclined to scholarly
pursuits. Rather than consider how appealing he found her adventurous nature,
he said the first thing that came to mind, and regretted it immediately after.