The Sinister Spinster (11 page)

Falconer silently held up the book, and she pretended to study the title for the first time.

"The Scientific Gentleman's Guide to Soils and Crops in Derby,"
she read, and gave an impatient exclamation. "All that, and I chose the wrong book?" She picked up her skirts and moved toward the chair. Her way was blocked almost at once.

"What are you doing?"

She didn't have to feign the annoyance brimming inside her. "Getting the book, of course," she said, tilting back her head to meet his stony gaze. "After nearly dying, I am not about to return to Mrs. Tremaine empty-handed."

His lips compressed in a thin line. "You didn't almost die," he retorted. "And you're mad if you think I will allow you to climb up on that thing a second time. Stay here."

He climbed on the chair, scarcely straining as he reached up to return the first book and retrieve the second. "Here," he said, thrusting it at her with obvious ill grace. "And the next time you need something on the very top shelf, have a servant fetch it for you, for heaven's sake."

As much to remind herself as him, Elizabeth sent him a frosty glare. "A servant did fetch it, my lord," she informed him aloofly. "
I
fetched it."

The reminder had its desired effect, and he remained silent as she redonned her mask and domino. A few moments later they were hurrying toward the main staircase, and Elizabeth took the opportunity to begin fretting about Alexi.

"I hope his highness isn't overly upset," she said, worrying at the thought of the havoc a concerned Alexi could cause. "He is even more protective than you are."

She sensed more than saw the heated glare he sliced her way. "I will leave it to Prince Bronyeskin to make his feelings known," he told her in icy accents. "But if I may be so bold, his highness wasn't the only one to be
upset
when it appeared you had vanished without a trace."

There wasn't time for Elizabeth to puzzle over the stiff words, as Alexi was upon them.

"Elizabeth!
Duragoy!"
She was scooped up in his arms and subjected to a hug that would have had a bear gasping for air. "Where have you been?" he demanded, blue eyes stormy as he set her on her feet again. "How dare you worry your Alexi so!"

Alexi's powerful hug jarred Elizabeth's injured shoulder, but she managed not to cry out. Covering her involuntary wince, she subjected both men to her sternest look of disapprobation.

"I vow," she lectured, shaking her head at them, "was there ever such a pair? One would think this was the wilds of Africa, to hear the two of you ranting on! I couldn't have been gone above half an hour! What do you think could happen in so short a time?"

Alexi gave one of his shrugs. "Half an hour can be a lifetime, little queen," he told her coolly. "And if you wish that
sabaka
, Colburt, to continue breathing, you will not remind me of the things that can befall a beautiful woman.

"But," he added, as Elizabeth opened her mouth in automatic protest, "it is grown late, and we must return you to the others before your absence is noted. Come." And he placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her toward the stairs.

This time she was unable to suppress a gasp, and both men instantly surrounded her.

"Elizabeth! What is it?" Alexi demanded, his touch gentle as his worried gaze swept over her.

"It is all right, Alexi," she soothed, unable as always to resist his genuine concern. "A simple bruise, nothing more. A book fell from the shelf and struck my shoulder. I shall rub it with mint and chamomile before retiring and it will be fine."

"If you are certain . . . " he began, and then broke off, frowning. "But I do not understand. How could a book fall from a shelf?"

"Not now, Alexi," Elizabeth said, twining her arm through his and leading him away. "As you said, it is best I return to the ballroom before my absence causes tattle."
She was halfway down the hall before realizing the marquess wasn't with them. She paused and cast a confused look over her shoulder.

"Aren't you coming with us, sir?" she asked, thinking how grim and alone he looked standing there in the flickering candlelight from the wall sconces.

"I will be along shortly," he replied, remaining in the center of the shadow-filled hall. "Good evening, Miss Mattingale. Mind you take proper care of that shoulder."

Deciding there was no understanding the masculine mind, she allowed a still scolding Alexi to guide her back to the ballroom. They parted at the door, and Elizabeth made for the small figure of a lady draped from head to foot in a colorful mound of shawls.

"Here you are, Mrs. Tremaine," she said, smiling as she carefully set the book in the older woman's lap. "I found the book you were asking about."

The elderly lady started, peering down at the book through faded blue eyes. "Oh, thank you, Miss Mattingale, thank you indeed," she said, her thin voice warm with gratitude. She used a gnarled finger to trace the gold letters stamped deep in the maroon leather. "Er—did I request a book?"

"Yes, Mrs. Tremaine, you did," Elizabeth replied, praying she wouldn't go to eternal perdition for lying to such a sweet lady. "Just before dinner, if you will but recall."

"Oh. Oh, of course," Mrs. Tremaine responded with a vague nod. "Then I am sure I must have wanted it. Thank you again, my dear," she added, flashing Elizabeth a shy smile. "You are very kind."

Elizabeth gave a weak smile in response before settling back to listen to the music, her conscience paining her along with her throbbing shoulder.

Idiot! Ham-fisted fool! Adam cursed himself furiously, his hands clenched at his sides as he stormed up and down the flagstone balcony overlooking the Derrings' gardens.
Every time he pictured Elizabeth jerking back and falling, he felt physically ill. If he hadn't been quick enough to catch her, she could have been seriously injured, a fact he was certain would haunt his dreams for some time to come. As it was, she'd been hurt anyway, and he knew it was entirely his doing. If he hadn't come bursting into the room like a jealous husband in search of a wayward wife, she would never have lost her balance. He was strongly tempted to confess his sin to Bronyeskin, figuring the thrashing the prince would give him was no less than he deserved.

When he'd done cursing himself for his appalling stupidity, Adam decided it was time to return to the ballroom. There was still the matter of the missing papers to consider, and after observing his two chief suspects together, he was more convinced than ever that they couldn't be involved. Miss Mattingale, he was certain, was far too proud to do such a thing, while Prince Bronyeskin was too much the aristocrat to sully his honor with something so sordid as espionage. That meant the thief had to be someone whose motive for taking the papers were less obvious. He had only to deduce what that motive might be, and then he'd have his thief.

Feeling better now that he'd come to a decision, he turned back toward the French doors leading back to the ballroom. He hadn't taken but a few steps when the sound of soft, feminine laughter, echoed by an answering masculine chuckle came from the shadows. Lovers, he thought with a sigh, and since they were between him and the doors he could either risk causing yet another scandal or find some other way back to the ballroom. It took less than a second for him to choose, and he slipped quietly down the balcony's wide stone steps and out into the moonlit garden.

To his chagrin he almost stumbled across several other pairs of lovers, before making his way toward the conservatory. He'd achieved his objective and was making his way toward the door when he saw yet another pair of
lovers slipping inside. For heaven's sake, he thought sourly, was he the only man in the house party not to have made an assignation? It was too lowering by half.

"There, darling," a familiar voice cooed from the shadows. "Didn't I promise I would come? Stop pouting and make love to me."

The duchess, he realized, his lips thinning in fastidious disdain. It was as well he'd rejected her invitation; it was one that had evidently been extended to most of the household. Not in the least interested in learning the identity of her grace's
inamorato
, he ducked behind the potted plants, keeping carefully in the shadows until he was able to affect his escape.

Back in the ballroom, the dancing and merrymaking continued unabated. Not wishing to rouse suspicions, he was careful to dance with several of the ladies, but his attention was never far from the corner where Elizabeth sat with Mrs. Tremaine and several older ladies. That he now thought of her as Elizabeth as easily as he thought of her as Miss Mattingale was another thing that troubled him, for it indicated he had crossed one of the lines of intimacy he seldom allowed himself to cross.

It was better—safer, he amended with a brutal flash of honesty—to keep that barrier of propriety between them. As she was forever pointing out, she was but a companion and he a marquess. Any hint of anything untoward between them was certain to end in disaster for her, and he was too fond of her to allow that to happen. He had always possessed the ability to bend his more impulsive nature to the iron control of his will; he would simply have to do so now.

Still clinging to his resolve, Adam rose early the next morning and set out for his daily ride. Most of the household was still abed, recovering from the night's festivities, and he was looking forward to a bruising ride and an entire hour of blissful solitude. He accomplished the first easily enough and was well on his way to enjoying the second when he charged over the crest of the hill and
glimpsed a hooded figure trudging through the fields paralleling the road. His eyes narrowed in instant recognition, and he set off down the hill in angry pursuit.

The figure turned at the sound of his approach, and for a moment he thought she looked as if she might bolt. Instead she squared her slender shoulders, standing her ground as he thundered to a halt a few feet from where she stood.

"I thought it was understood you would be taking your ease today," he said, scowling as he dismounted.

"Understood by you, perhaps, my lord," Elizabeth replied in those precise tones he knew meant she was highly displeased. "For myself, I can recall no such conversation."

"I told you to have a care for your shoulder," he reminded her, lips twitching as he approached her. Annoyed as he was, he still couldn't help but be amused by her recalcitrant nature. He also couldn't help but admire the pride that was as much a part of her as her soft blue eyes and delightfully pointed chin.

Up came that delightful chin. "And so I have every intention of doing," she told him with a sniff. "But since I do not walk upon my shoulders, I am sure I shall be fine. Good day, sir; you won't wish your horse to grow restive, I am sure." And she turned and stalked away, the conversation clearly finished as far as she was concerned.

He grabbed the reins of his horse before falling easily into step beside her. "You are bound for the milliner's again, I see," he observed, gesturing at the familiar hatbox swinging from her arm. "How many bonnets does her ladyship possess, if I may ask? Every time I come upon you, you seem to be carrying a hatbox."

She jerked as if shocked by his observation. "No more than any other lady, I am sure," she said, keeping her eyes firmly fixed in front of her. "But as it happens, this is a bonnet Lady Derring purchased a few weeks past. She wishes to have the ribbon changed to another color, and asked if I would see to the matter for her."

"And naturally you said you would." The bitter words slipped from between Adam's clenched teeth before he could stop them.

She turned her head long enough to cast him a puzzled look. "Naturally. I
am
in her employ, after all."

"So you are constantly reminding me, but what you haven't said is why it must be so," he said, a burning curiosity to learn more of the secretive woman walking beside him tearing at him. Yesterday he would have excused such interest as no more than his duty, but today he could find no such comfort. His interest in Elizabeth was entirely and deeply personal.

"Didn't your father make arrangements for you prior to emigrating to America?" he asked, aware of how far over that invisible line he now trod.

"No," Elizabeth said quietly, "he did not. When I refused to remain with him in America, he made it plain I could expect no further assistance from him. My mother's mother is set well enough and would have been happy to have me remain with her, but I've no wish to batten myself on an old woman. We agreed this position with Lady Derring would serve as a sort of test, and if I do well, Grandmother promised not to oppose me when I sought a more permanent position."

Adam couldn't say why, but he was greatly relieved. "Then this is only a temporary position for you?"

She nodded. "For six months. If I manage to survive that long without being given the boot or resigning, I shall be free." She clapped a hand over her lips and cast him a look of such horror that this time there was no holding back the chuckle that seemed to come from deep inside him.

"Six months isn't so great a time," he said, smiling. "And who is to say, perhaps this ruinous war will have ended by then, and you and your father will have reconciled."

A look of profound sadness flashed across Elizabeth's
face. "Perhaps," she agreed, tightening her hold on the hatbox.

Adam said nothing, a lifetime of reticence making it impossible for him to speak. He wanted to demand that she explain herself, but he felt hampered as much by the conventions as by his own wary nature. The loss of his parents within months of each other, followed by the mad scramble to gain control over his staggering inheritance had left him wary, and he'd learned to survive by holding himself aloof from everyone and everything. But he was finding he couldn't hold himself aloof from Elizabeth, and it troubled him that she could so effortlessly hold herself away from him.

Keeping such thoughts private, he escorted her the rest of the way to the milliner's shop. His desire for her company was almost enough to overcome his masculine aversion to such places, but in the end he decided it wouldn't suit. Halting, he laid a staying hand on her arm and gazed down into her face.