Unlacing the Innocent Miss (17 page)

She remembered Haddow’s pronounced limp, the footman with a folded and pinned sleeve where an arm should be, the silver hip flask…Lieutenant Will Wolversley, 26th Regiment of Foot. Her anger drained away.

‘Aye, he has a grand house, a fine carriage and four, and plenty money, but it doesnae change who he is…and it doesnae take away his pain. He’s a hard man, Miss Wardale, hardest of all with himself. But he’s no liar and I’ll not hear you call him such.’

The silence that followed his words seemed to ring loud.

‘I did not know,’ she said.

‘Well, you do now.’ Campbell had not moved. His gaze stayed trained upon her.

From outside they heard the sound of booted footsteps upon the stone stairs and then the opening and shutting of the front door and the hush of voices. The door to the den opened, and she did not need to look round to know that it was Wolf that had come into the room. She turned, her
gaze meeting his. The firelight danced off the silver in his eyes. He glanced from Rosalind to Campbell and back again, and she could see the question in his eyes.

She did not know what to say. The anger had all gone, and where it had been was only hurt, hurt that her pride would not let him see.

‘Please excuse me, Mr Campbell, Mr Wolversley.’ She held her head high, kept her shoulders back, and with as much dignity as she could muster, swept from the room.

Wolf waited until the door closed before he spoke. ‘What the hell just happened in here? Rosalind looks like you just slapped her in the face.’

Campbell set his still half-full glass down and, lifting the bottle of brandy, filled a second glass. ‘The lassie was under some mis apprehensions. I set her right, nothing more.’ He lifted his own glass once more, leaving the newly filled glass where it was on the table, and sat down in the chair. ‘You didnae bed her, then.’ Campbell sounded doleful.

Wolf sighed and rubbed the heel of his hand against his temple before coming to sit in the chair opposite Campbell’s. ‘Don’t go there Struan.’ He lifted the filled glass from where Campbell had left it and took a large swig of the brandy. ‘I take it you received the message I sent?’

Campbell nodded. ‘I didnae like how the lassie got under your skin, but she didnae deserve that. Is it true what they printed in the newspaper?’

‘Aye, she’s Leybourne’s daughter. A bloody earl’s daughter.’

‘Said in the paper that he was stripped of his title.’

‘It makes no difference. She’s still of noble birth,’ said Wolf and there was an ache in his chest as he said the
words. He looked away, staring into the fire, trying to get a grip of himself.

There was a short silence.

Campbell cursed and it hissed quiet in the room.

Wolf did not even look round.

‘It’s more than what’s in your breeches; you have feelings for the lassie,’ Campbell accused.

Wolf looked round then, and he could see the concern in Campbell’s eyes. ‘I love her, Struan. Asked her to marry me, before I knew the truth of who she was.’

‘Marriage?’ Wolf could hear the slightly horrified tone of panic in his friend’s voice.

‘You need not worry. The newspaper changed all that. An earl’s daughter cannot marry the bastard son of a whore.’

‘She shunned your offer?’

‘No. She accepted me whole heartedly.’ Wolf smiled through the pain and bitterness. ‘It was me who withdrew the offer.’

Campbell stared at him. ‘You love her. She agrees to marry you. And yet you refuse to marry her because her father was an earl?’

‘You know where I come from, Struan. You know what I am.’

‘It doesnae make any difference, if you love each other.’

‘It does to me.’ He finished the rest of the brandy in one gulp and poured himself another. ‘And it does to her. Besides, I didn’t ask you here to speak of this. What did you discover of the emeralds?’

‘You’re no’ gonnae like it.’ Campbell watched him a moment longer before speaking. ‘They were fenced the night of the theft by a servant from Evedon’s household.’

Wolf glanced round, his eyes sharp, waiting.

‘It was Kempster.’

‘Hell,’ Wolf muttered beneath his breath. ‘The stones will probably end up with Beshaley.’

‘Beshaley?’ Campbell glanced up suddenly, alert. ‘You mean the Gypsy, Stephano Beshaley? The gem trader?’

‘One in the same,’ confirmed Wolf. ‘Beshaley’s at the centre of this whole mess. I couldn’t place his name at the time, but a few discreet enquiries today soon revealed his identity. Beshaley is the gentleman from the inn that I wrote of, the one who delivered the newspaper to Rosalind. The same one that Kempster told Rosalind had paid him to steal Lady Evedon’s jewels and plant them in her bedchamber. Beshaley went to a lot of trouble to scandalize Rosalind’s reputation.’

‘Who the hell is Rosalind Wardale to him?’

Wolf’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. ‘Rosalind said she did not know him.’

‘And you believe her?’

‘Aye, Struan, I do.’

‘And Kempster, the sneaky wee rat that he is, was double-crossing Beshaley. He stole both sets of stones, but only planted the diamonds; the emeralds he sold to line his own pocket, little realizing Beshaley’s trade. Beshaley will find him out, if he hasnae already done so.’

‘Beshaley will not care. This is some kind of vendetta against Rosalind. We need to find the link between them.’

‘Where does Evedon fit into all this?’

‘He doesn’t,’ said Wolf. ‘Beshaley was just looking for a way to ruin Rosalind. When he thought that the jewel theft was going to be hushed up, he resorted to publication of the story. Evedon is a bystander victim in all of this.’ He thought of the letter that Rosalind had carried within
her corset, that now lay neatly folded and safe within the pocket of his jacket.

‘Some victim. Did Rosalind steal Evedon’s letter as she claimed?’

‘She did.’

‘And?’ Campbell waited, a look of expectation on his face.

‘It’s naught we need worry over, Struan.’ He downed the rest of the brandy and set the empty glass on the table. ‘See what you can find on Beshaley. I’ve an appointment with Evedon to keep.’

‘Rather you than me. Evedon’s no’ gonnae be happy. Nae lassie, nae emeralds, just a poxy letter.’ Campbell smiled and got to his feet.

Wolf returned the smile in full. ‘The poor bastard will be happy enough with his letter.’

Rosalind heard the front door shut as Campbell took his leave. Five minutes later, there was a tap at her bedchamber door and Wolf’s voice sounded.

‘Rosalind?’ He waited where he was, even though it was his house and the door was not locked.

His expression was uncertain when she opened the door to him, as if he could not be sure of her response.

‘You are well?’ He stood there, and she could sense the slight discomfort about him.

‘Very well, thank you,’ she said politely.

He nodded, and cleared his throat, but still stood where he was, making no move to enter the room.’

‘The bedchamber is to your liking?’

‘Yes,’ she lied. The bedchamber was grand and elegant, dressed in whites and creams and furnished with expense, yet it held no comfort. It was like the rest of the house,
austere and luxurious, but with nothing of a home about it, all save Wolf’s small shabby den. She liked that room.

‘I am glad of it.’ His eyes held an uneasiness. ‘Haddow said you wished to speak with me.’

She looked at him; he seemed as awkward as she was with this mask of manners to disguise the truth of what lay between them. ‘Campbell told me you were in the Army. Lieutenant Will Wolversley.’

‘He had no right to tell you that.’

‘I read the inscription on your flask, that day by the stream in the bluebell woods, the day I rode pillion with Kempster.’

‘The day you ran away.’

‘And you fetched me back.’

Their eyes met and held, so that she felt a shiver tingle across her skin.

‘What happened? England is still at war with France, yet you are no longer in the Army.’

‘Did not Campbell tell you the rest of it?’ he asked harshly, and then he shook his head and glanced momentarily away before looking back at her. ‘Dishonourable discharge. I was flogged until there was no skin left upon my back. I’m damned lucky that the sentence was so light; by rights I should be dead.’

She remembered the scarring she had seen that night in the inn. ‘Why?’ she caught her teeth at her lip, afraid of the answer but needing to hear it all the same.

‘I killed a fellow officer.’

Her eyes widened.

‘You are shocked.’

‘A little, but I am sure you had good reason for…for the action you took.’

He smiled at that, and something of the awkwardness vanished. ‘Through his own pomposity and stupidity, he led
good men to be butchered and nigh on would have destroyed the company had I not disobeyed his command.’

‘And you killed him in punishment?’

‘I killed him in a duel to which he challenged me. I meant only to injure the fool.’

‘Wolf…’

He shook his head as if to stay what she would have said. ‘It is all of it in the past now.’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

‘That day in the inn, the man who delivered the newspaper, you said that you did not know him.’

‘I have never seen him before.’

‘He is called Stephano Beshaley.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘The name means nothing to me.’

‘There must be some connection between the two of you, for he was most determined to see you destroyed.’

Her eyes met his again and another shiver ran through her.

‘You need not be afraid Rosalind. You are safe here, and I mean to discover what Beshaley is about.’

‘And Evedon?’

‘I have an appointment with Evedon in half an hour. You have nothing more to fear from him.’

‘You…you have the letter?’

He gave a nod. ‘I have the letter.’

They looked at one another for a moment, and the tension seemed to wind tight between them. So many words unspoken; so much found, then lost. For all that had gone, she did not want him to face Evedon alone.

‘Let me come with you.’

‘It is better if I see him alone.’

She swallowed hard. ‘Better for whom?’

‘For us all, Rosalind.’

‘You do not know what he is like.’

‘I think I can hazard a good-enough guess.’

‘I am trying to warn you of the danger,’ she said with exasperation.

‘I know, lass,’ he said softly, ‘and I thank you for it,’ and leaning in, dropped a kiss to her cheek before he turned and was gone.

Rosalind stood alone in the bedchamber and heard the banging of the doors and the ensuing silence that seemed to echo through the house, and her cheek, where his lips had touched, burned.

W
olf declined the chair that Evedon offered, preferring instead to stand within the earl’s library. Evedon’s face was flushed, as if he had been drinking heavily even though the afternoon hour was not late.

‘Where is she?’ Wolf could see the fear that lurked behind the anger in Evedon’s eyes. ‘Thief, and murderer’s daughter—she has quite ruined my mother’s reputation…and mine.’

‘No person’s reputation is ruined save Miss Wardale’s own,’ said Wolf.

‘You were supposed to keep this quiet. That was the deal. A hundred guineas to bring her back unnoticed. And instead, you sold the story to the press. What the hell did they pay you? Was not my money enough for you?’

‘The newspaper story was not of my doing.’

‘Kempster said that you fancied her, that you were bedding the little trollop.’

Wolf walked right up to Evedon, keeping on going even
when the older man backed away. ‘Watch your mouth, Evedon. I’ll not have you speak of Miss Wardale in such terms.’

‘Then he was right,’ murmured Evedon and turned away to pour himself another drink.

Wolf knocked the glass from his hand, the finely engraved crystal falling to smash upon the hearth stone. ‘You’ve had enough to drink this day. Kempster is a liar, a thief and an arsonist. It was Kempster that stole the dowager’s jewels, not Miss Wardale.’

Evedon gaped at him. ‘You are lying, because you are bedding her.’

Wolf grabbed him by his cravat and hoisted him close. ‘You best tell Kempster to run, because I’ll kill the little coward when I get my hands on him. He was paid to steal Lady Evedon’s jewels in order to implicate Miss Wardale as the thief. He hid the diamonds in her chamber as directed, but his greed meant that he could not resist selling the emeralds for himself. Where is he now?’

‘Gone,’ croaked Evedon, his face flushing redder from where Wolf held his cravat tight. ‘Asked for his character and left as soon as he returned from Scotland. Some sort of family trouble I understand.’

Wolf’s expression was hard, unremitting, but he released Evedon, pushing him away from the table on which the servant’s bell sat.

‘Ring that and I’ll have a bullet through your heart before the first footman is through the door.’ Wolf touched a hand to the bump where his pistol lay beneath his coat.

The earl regarded him sullenly. ‘You have come without the girl. What do you do here, Mr Wolversley? Surely you do not expect payment?’

Wolf slipped the letter from his pocket and sat it on the table between them.

Evedon’s face paled before burning redder than before. He stared first at the letter and then at Wolf. He wetted his lips and swallowed nervously. ‘How much do you want?’

‘I want your oath, sir.’

Evedon’s breath caught. He stared all the harder with suspicion. ‘My oath, Mr Wolversley?’

‘That you will ensure all London knows of Kempster’s guilt in the theft of the jewels.’

Evedon’s face lifted in surprise. ‘That should present no problem.’

‘You will not seek out Miss Wardale or contact her by any means. Nor shall you speak ill of her to any person. Your mother shall write her a favourable character. That is all.’

‘And if all of your demands are met…’

‘The letter is yours, sir, to do with as you wish. Neither Miss Wardale nor I shall speak of it.’

‘You do not want money?’

Wolf gave a hard laugh. ‘I do not need your money, Lord Evedon; I have more than enough of my own.’

Evedon’s face coloured a deeper hue. ‘Kempster was right. You do want the woman.’

Wolf ignored the comment.

The earl’s gaze met Wolf’s. The two men watched each other as the seconds ticked by. Evedon gave a nod.

‘Very well, Mr Wolversley. I will do all that you ask. I give you my word.’ He extended his hand and Wolf grasped it firm, pulling the earl closer, so that his words, when uttered, were soft by Evedon’s ear.

‘Renege on any part of it, and I will come after you and ensure that all of England knows your secret.’

Wolf could see the sheen of sweat across Evedon’s brow and on the bridge of his nose. He released the man’s hand, pushing him back as he did so.

Evedon’s breathing was shaky and his face stained ruddy, yet he said nothing, just stared across the distance that separated them once more.

Wolf pushed the letter across the table’s smooth, highly polished surface.

Evedon reached for it. The letter trembled within his hands, as he touched the seal and then scanned the contents. Satisfied, he folded it once more and slid the letter into the inner pocket of his jacket.

‘Thank you, Mr Wolversley. That will be all.’

‘Not quite all,’ said Wolf. ‘There is something I have yet to tell you, something that concerns us both.’

The earl swallowed hard and held his hand defensively over the pocket in which the letter lay. He edged towards the bell that would summon his footmen.

Wolf smiled a hard smile and stepped easily to block Evedon’s intent. ‘Somehow I do not think this is something you’ll be wanting your servants to hear.’ He steered Evedon towards his desk. ‘Best sit down, Lord Evedon.’

Alone within the ivory bedchamber, Rosalind could not rest. She flitted nervously from one chair to another, paced anxiously and stared endlessly from the window, willing Wolf’s safe return. She knew how angry Evedon would be, and she could not imagine that Wolf’s confrontation with her past employer would be as straightforward as he seemed to think. Simply returning the letter to Evedon would not be enough. Evedon would know that she had read it, and Wolf too, and neither of them would be safe.

Wolf did not seem to appreciate the danger into which he had plunged. She knew that he was trying to protect her. Had he not promised her that he would sort the matter with Evedon, and if any man could do such a thing it was Wolf for he was darkly dangerous in a way that the earl could
never be. But even knowing this, even trusting him as she did, she could not relax the knot of tension in her stomach. She should have gone with him despite his protestations; it would have been better than sitting here and worrying.

Lord, keep him safe. Protect him.
She whispered the prayer to herself, saying the words again and again, like a mantra that would act as his talisman. And walked again to the window for the hundredth time to check for his return.

It could have been little more than an hour later when she heard at last the opening of the front door. Her heart beat fast. She hurried across the bedchamber, flinging open the door and running to the stairs.

Wolf was shrugging off his coat in the hallway. He glanced round at the sound of her footsteps.

She slowed, coming to a halt in front of him, suddenly embarrassed by her behaviour. She saw the amusement upon Haddow’s face before he hid it behind his butler’s mask, and she blushed at her own impetuosity.

‘You are unhurt?’ Her hand moved to touch Wolf, and stayed itself just in time. Her eyes scanned the whole of him checking for any sign of injury.

‘completely,’ he said with a smile. He led her into the nearby drawing room before speaking further. ‘It is done. All is well, Rosalind.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Absolutely. Evedon shall not bother you again.’

‘It was done so easily?’

‘Easily enough.’

She smiled her relief. ‘Thank you.’ She touched her hand to his and felt his fingers entwine with hers.

Wolf’s gaze shifted to their clasped hands before raising once more to meet her eyes. She saw the desire in the shimmering silver, saw how he leaned his face down to hers as
if he would kiss her. And then he stopped, and something of the light dimmed in his eyes, and she thought she saw bleak ness move in its place.

His fingers loosened from hers and fell away. His smile vanished and the lines of his face grew hard once more and edged with sadness.

All of the tension was back winding tight and awkward between them.

‘I should go. There are things to be attended to.’

‘You have not eaten. The hour grows late.’

‘Your family must be found.’

Did he really wish to be rid of her so quickly? ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you are right.’ She stepped back, increasing the distance between them, determined to show nothing of the hurt she was feeling.

His gaze held to hers, and she could not look away no matter how much she tried. She saw the muscle tighten in the squareness of his jaw as if he clenched his teeth in determination.

‘Rosalind,’ he said, and his voice was hoarse as though the word was wrung from his lips against his will.

She saw the sudden darkening of his eyes, from pale luminescent dove grey to smoky slate.

There did not seem to be enough air in the room; her breathing grew short and ragged. She wetted her lips.

He gave a groan of submission, and then she was in his arms and his mouth was hard upon hers, kissing her. His lips were like the thrum of her own blood—hot and hard and needful. He tangled his fingers in her hair, as his tongue entwined with hers so that she felt the heat of passion sear her thighs. But even as she melted against him, she felt him slip away.

He stared into her eyes for a moment longer. ‘Forgive me. I should not have done that.’ And then he was gone,
leaving only the slam of the front door and the thump of her heart echoing in his wake.

The butler showed Wolf into a small reception room of the large town house in fashionable Bruton Street and left him there alone. It was the room used for trade and for servants, but Wolf was used to such treatment. He did not speak like a gentleman. He did not dress like a gentleman. In truth, he was no gentleman. He did not sit down on one of the plain wooden chairs as the butler had indicated but, instead, stood by the small high window peering out on to the stables. He did not have to wait long before the tall dark-haired man he had come to see joined him.

‘Lord Stanegate,’ he nodded an acknowledgement.

‘At your service, Mr Wolversley. You said in your note that you had news of my wife’s sister.’

‘Indeed. I come seeking the whereabouts of Mrs Wardale and her youngest daughter, that they might be reunited with Miss Rosalind Wardale.’

Wolf did not miss the flicker that crossed Lord Stanegate’s face before he schooled his expression once more to impassivity.

‘Mrs Wardale passed away several years ago, but Lady Stanegate, her daughter and my wife, has been most anxious to hear of her sister. We read the newspaper account…’ He let the sentence trail off unfinished.

‘All of London did, but you need not fear, my lord: Miss Wardale is no jewel thief, despite all that the papers have been saying. You understand the nature of malicious gossip, sir.’

‘I do, but what I do not understand, sir, is your connection with Miss Wardale.’

‘I am a friend, sir.’

‘A friend, sir? I have heard you are something of a thief-
taker, Mr Wolversley. Employed by Evedon to capture Miss Wardale.’

‘That is so.’ Wolf met Stanegate’s gaze un flinching, and saw the concern behind the suspicion that he was accustomed to seeing in the aristocracy’s eyes when they looked at him. ‘Miss Wardale has suffered enough. If you seek to deal her further censure, then speak now.’

‘I wish for nothing other than my wife’s happiness. Knowing her sister is safe and well would do much for that. The lady is welcome here.’

Wolf nodded. ‘Then I will bring her to you.’

‘Sir—’

But Wolf was already walking towards the door. ‘Ensure that she is treated kindly, Lord Stanegate.’

From the expression upon his face, Stanegate was not accustomed to taking orders, especially not in his own house—not that Wolf cared one iota for that.

A single nod and Wolf was gone. His mission was accomplished. He already knew from his research that Stanegate was a decent man and that he doted on his young wife and child. And Wolf was confident that Stanegate would take Rosalind into his household and care for her. Rosalind would be safe in a place that she belonged, with people that loved her.

But as he strode through the streets, his heart was heavy and there was a hard lump in his throat that would not shift no matter how he tried to swallow it down. People that loved her, he thought again, and knew that none of them loved her as much as he did. But he had first to tell Rosalind the news of her mother’s death. He headed to the Red Lion tavern to delay what must be done.

It had moved from evening to night when the knock sounded on Rosalind’s bedroom door. Only ten of the
clock, but already she was in her nightdress and in bed, lying beneath the clean freshly ironed sheets wide awake in the darkness. She knew instinctively that it was Wolf outside her door.

When she opened the door, she could not see his face; he was a dark silhouette against the brightness of the wall sconces in the hallway. But she could smell the cold night air and the faint sweetness of brandy that emanated from him.

He turned slightly so that the light caught his face, and she saw his gaze take in the thick white cotton of her nightclothes. ‘Forgive me, I did not mean to wake you. It can wait until tomorrow.’

‘No.’ She put out her hand to stay him, then drew it back fast at the feel of his bare fingers beneath hers. ‘I was not asleep.’ There was an awkward pause as she found her eyes meeting his again. It was night time and he had come to her bedchamber. Her heart was beating too fast. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw not the tell-tale darkening simmer of desire; she saw pain and dread and resolution to a task. She felt the cold hand of premonition touch to her shoulder and she shivered. The churning dread was back in her stomach.

‘You have some news, sir?’ The question was polite and her voice flat and unemotional, revealing nothing. It was the voice of Rosalind Meadowfield, not Rosalind Wardale. She could feel herself re treating back beneath the safety of the familiar guise.

‘Indeed.’ He nodded, and his grim expression did nothing to allay her fears.

Bad news. About Evedon? About the dark stranger? Or her family? She tensed in preparation. She made no move to invite him in, just kept him standing in the corridor. It
was all she had left she thought, her pride, and she held her head up and looked him directly in the eye.