The Sinner Who Seduced Me (21 page)

Miss Bennett glanced dejectedly at the gentleman’s clothing laid out upon her bed. “Daphne, I’ve no need for the suit anymore. Please see that it’s given to one of the male servants.”

Daphne continued to pull the pins from her lady’s hair, the weight of Pettibone’s coin in her pocket urging her to speak despite the fear she felt. “My lady, whatever do you mean?”

“There will be no outing this evening. My adventures are at an end.”

The maid knew better than to encourage a young woman to venture out on her own. It was dangerous, never mind highly inappropriate. And dressed as a man? Daphne had grown up one of ten children in Shropshire, her house little more than a hovel and her parents forced to work themselves to the bone just to scrape by. She may have been poor with no place in polite society, but she’d been raised with morals and manners. Every coin in her pocket would be sent straightaway to her family, where all the rest of Pettibone’s blunt had gone.

She hesitated, carefully pulling the final pin from Miss Bennett’s golden hair and placing the lot of them on the dressing table. Either she took advantage of this moment to do as Pettibone had instructed or she did not and the money would be lost. How would her parents feed her brothers and sisters? How would Daphne live with her decision?

“Really, my lady, it’s not like you to give up so easily.” Daphne took a deep breath, the worst part over. She picked up the tortoiseshell-handled brush and began to pull it through her mistress’s hair.

“Daphne, I have no choice in the matter,” Miss Bennett replied, her shoulders slumping. “Rougier offered very little information on the outing. All I do know is that we were to patronize a gaming hell of some sort—and that’s very little in the way of particulars. I’ve no idea of the establishment’s name nor any way of finding it.”

Daphne willed her hand to continue drawing the brush through the smooth fall of blond hair. “I know someone who might.”

Miss Bennett caught Daphne’s hand and pulled her around to face her. “Really? Are you certain?”

“I’ve heard one of the footmen speak of the Eagle’s Nest—the very place St. Michelle’s man inquired about. Before coming to Kenwood, this footman worked for a gentleman who frequented the establishment.” It was more difficult to get the words out while Miss Bennett was looking right at her, but Daphne pressed on. “It’s not for the faint of heart, mind you. According to this man, the Eagle’s Nest attracts a desperate crowd.”

Miss Bennett’s eyes blazed with sudden excitement, and Daphne’s heart fell. She didn’t want any harm to come to her lady, truly she didn’t. But Pettibone frightened Daphne. And the thought of her family starving or freezing to death frightened her even more. She turned back to her duty and began again to pull the brush through Miss Bennett’s hair.

“Daphne, what on earth are you doing?” Miss Bennett rose abruptly from her beechwood chair. “You must go at once and speak with this footman. We don’t have time to waste. It’s nearly night!”

“This moment, my lady?” Daphne asked hesitantly.

Miss Bennett rolled her eyes. “Well, of course. I’ll be
far too engaged the rest of the week preparing for my presentation at court. If I do not go to the Eagle’s Nest tonight, I will not have the opportunity to go at all.”

Daphne had hoped to put off Miss Bennett’s trip to the gaming hell for at least one night, in the hopes that the passage of time would give her lady pause. Daphne’s conscience would have felt less guilty if Miss Bennett had thrown caution to the wind after having time to think things through. Then her own reckless nature would have been to blame, rather than Daphne’s conniving.

“But we’ve no time to arrange for an escort, or carriage,” Daphne began, stepping closer to Miss Bennett to begin brushing her hair yet again.

“Please, Daphne,” Miss Bennett replied with exasperation, ducking to avoid the maid. She hurried to a rosewood chest of drawers and rifled through countless chemises and stockings, finally pulling a silk embroidered purse from the drawer. “There is always enough time when one is wealthy. This man, the footman who knows of the Eagle’s Nest, bring him this.” She untied the corded drawstring and reached into the purse, the coins within tinkling against one another. She withdrew five guineas and held them out. “Bring him this and tell him there will be more if he cooperates.”

Daphne looked at the coins in her palm and sighed. Of course the footman—whom she knew through Pettibone—would say yes. No one would say no to such a fortune, especially when he’d wanted the silly chit to go all along.

“Go now! And return at once. I’ll need help with my clothing and hair,” Miss Bennett ordered, peeling off her fine silk dressing gown then shooing at Daphne with both hands. “Really, Daphne, you’re as slow as treacle.”

Daphne bobbed a polite curtsy and turned slowly, opening the door and stepping out into the dark hallway with nothing more than a single candlestick to light her
way.
Rather handy that
, Daphne thought to herself as she headed for the stairs. The darker the hall, the slower the going, which would suit her conscience just fine.

Carrying his boots, James strolled slowly across the lush grounds of Kenwood House, his clothing soaked from his midnight swim in the lake. He’d taken to swimming nearly every night when possible, the endless starry sky easing his frayed nerves, as though somewhere, beneath a separate part of the sky, he could be different. He supposed that it was hope he craved. But for what, he couldn’t be certain.

Or he knew and he simply did not want to admit it.

His boots suddenly became too heavy. He pitched one and then the other toward the looming dark bulk of Kenwood House, the release of anger he experienced somewhat satisfying.

But not nearly enough. “You had to go and think, didn’t you, James?” he asked himself, annoyed that he’d ruined the calming effects of the water.

It had taken every last ounce of his control to keep from flying across the room and attacking Pettibone that afternoon. He’d neither trusted nor liked the man. But now he hated him—and with good cause. Pettibone was playing a deeper game with an unknown agenda, and James didn’t like it one bit. He sensed it was more than merely that the man loathed him. No, it was clearly far more nefarious than that.

But that wasn’t what had sent him off to the lake. James reached the spot where the first boot had landed. He picked it up and hurled it yet again. Clarissa’s reaction to the news that he was a turncoat had torn him in two.

“Goddammit,” he shouted, coming across the second boot and hurling it toward the house. “Of course she
thinks you’re a bloody traitor. But you can’t tell her, you lout.”

James didn’t want to care. He’d found it so easy not to in the years since Clarissa. Letting go of emotion for the sake of his sanity had come so naturally. He’d even found himself wondering, shortly after their parting, how she’d managed to live so open to the storms and showers of her highly emotional life.

No, James didn’t want to care. But he did. He’d built the fortress around his heart so carefully, only to have Clarissa begin the slow, torturous process of tumbling it down one stone after another, until he was left talking to himself. In the dark. On a lawn at Kenwood House.

It was lunacy. James smiled reluctantly. “Naturally, it’s Clarissa. Could it be any other way?”

Something in his gut shifted. Then the pressure rose, moving through his lungs, past his heart, settling momentarily in his throat, then seemingly escaping through his skull.

He looked up at the night sky as though he might see the thing flying off in the darkness. But all his eyes found were the stars. Countless stars, shifting and shimmering with hope.

He smiled again, thinking on how Clarissa would have interpreted the moment. Surely a number of large, flowery adjectives would have been put to use and a few long descriptions of the precise nature of the pressure and its journey.

With a sudden flash of insight, James realized what he was feeling—it was relief. In that moment, he’d finally let go of the burden he’d so stupidly held onto for so long. He no longer cared whose fault it was. It did not matter. At least not to him—and he prayed that it didn’t matter to Clarissa. He wanted her. She gave him hope. She gave him life. And he needed her more than he’d ever needed anyone or anything in his life.

“You stupid, stupid man,” he said aloud, tripping over a boot. He picked it up and held on to it as he searched for the other.

How could he have stayed away once he’d tasted her again? The feel of her lips on his had shaken him to the core. That he’d been able to leave her five years ago was beyond comprehension. And now? James could not think of a suitable excuse.

He located the second boot and jogged toward the house, intent on wasting no more time.

A candle flame bobbing in the dark caught his eye as he approached, Iris’s maid quickly coming into focus.

“Daphne?” he asked, slowing to a walk and stopping in front of her.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rougier, it’s Miss Bennett, sir,” she began in a nervous tone.

The last thing James wanted to discuss was Miss Bennett. “
S’il vous plaît
, tell your lady I’ll be happy to speak with her in the morning.” He nodded politely and moved to take his leave.

But Daphne clutched his arm and held tight. “You misunderstand, sir. She’s gone.”

“Where?” James asked, a sudden sense of dread threatening to settle on his shoulders.

Daphne released his arm and looked mournfully at the ground. “I oughtn’t have done it, I know that now. But Mr. Pettibone, he pays so well. And my family, Mr. Rougier, sir. My family needs the money.”

“Where has she gone?” he said pointedly, yanking one boot on with difficulty.

“The Eagle’s Nest, sir.”

James bit off a curse. There would be no use shouting at Daphne. Pettibone would be persuasive—and his purse, James imagined, would be even more so. No, there was no point in upsetting the maid. But he certainly could use her.

“Did she go alone?” he asked, pulling the second boot on.

The girl looked as though she were about to cry.

“Daphne,” James repeated softly, sensing he needed to proceed carefully. “I can see you regret your part in all of this. So please, help me. Did Mademoiselle Bennett travel alone?”

“No,” she whispered, choking back a sob. “One of the grooms accompanied her. I don’t know his name, but he seemed familiar enough with Pettibone.”

James swore under his breath. What was Pettibone up to? Endangering Iris would only threaten his plan. But perhaps it wasn’t Iris he was after at all. Perhaps it was James—or worse, Clarissa. None of it made any sense at the moment, but James felt certain that securing Iris’s safety must come first.

“Daphne, I need your help. Go to my chamber and retrieve a change of clothing. There’s a small wooden chest just inside the doorway of the dressing room. Collect that as well. I’ll send Thomkins to the kitchens in a quarter of an hour to fetch these things.
Comprenezvous
?”

The maid nodded quickly, then stopped, her brow furrowing. “Don’t you want me to fetch Monsieur St. Michelle as well?”

“Absolutely not,” James answered more firmly than he’d intended. He composed himself and began again. “Do not speak with anyone—not St. Michelle and especially not Pettibone.”

Her eyes widened and she stood stock-still. “You’re frightening me, sir,” Daphne said quietly, her voice quivering.

James thought for a moment, suddenly realizing he’d forgotten something. “Daphne, I apologize, but there’s not enough time for me to reassure you. Go to my chamber, continue to the dressing room, and retrieve my
clothing and chest, as I asked—and one more item. You’ll find a pair of boots. Within one of the pair is a small leather pouch. The contents of the pouch—enough, I would wager, to keep your family comfortable for many years—is yours. My only requirement is that you leave Kenwood House this very night and never return.”

Daphne stared at James as though she couldn’t understand what he had just said. “There’s no time to waste, mademoiselle.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I knew what I was doing was wrong. I don’t deserve anything—least of all your money.”

James tried to understand that the girl was terrified, but his patience was wearing thin. “If you don’t do as I ask, I fear that you’ll have Pettibone to answer to. Do you want that, Daphne?”

She turned ghostly white as his words sank in. “No, sir. No, I don’t. I’ll fetch your things, as you asked.”

“Good. I’ll have Thomkins ready a cart and ask that he drive you directly to the Fireside Inn. In the morning you can catch the first coach for home.”

“Thomkins, sir?” she asked hesitantly. “It’s just that Pettibone seems to have a fair number of friends in the household.”

James was all too aware of this fact. Still, his gut told him that the groom was trustworthy. He only hoped he was right. “I trust him. That should be enough for you. Now go. And hurry.”

Daphne swallowed hard. Her expression became more resolute as she nodded in agreement. “I will. I’ll go fetch your things then make haste for the barn. I’ll not stop for no one, sir. I promise.”

James watched as the girl disappeared back into Kenwood House, then turned for the barn. He prayed her word was good.

* * *

The excitement of her resolution had somewhat cooled, Clarissa admitted to herself as she lay in the darkness of James’s chamber, her head propped against one of the feather pillows.

Following her conversation with Pettibone and James, she’d gone for a ride on Winston. James had been right in his assumption that she would enjoy riding astride much more than sidesaddle. She’d let Winston carry her across the open fields of the heath and back again, so immersed in her thoughts that every picturesque hollow, bit of fall foliage, and breathtaking vista barely caught her eye. Pettibone’s revelation of James’s involvement with a second spy organization was damning. It confirmed her suspicions that the man wished to use her in some way against James.

Clarissa would rather never paint again than allow someone as deceitful and dangerous as Pettibone to use her in any way.