What a Lady Craves (18 page)

“How do you know they’re coming for you? Perhaps there is another connection.”

“That’s what I thought, too, at first. Foster …” How much was it safe for him to divulge here? A good deal, no doubt, since Marianne’s father was gone. “I have no proof, but I believe he was also involved with the Foreign Office. There’s no denying the man had contacts, important ones. It’s how he secured an introduction to Nilmani for all of us. And I would have believed Foster’s death was related to his other activities if they hadn’t come for my wife afterward.”

Her eyes went round, and she backed away. “But you’re insinuating … We are not close.” She asserted that last in a firm, almost angry voice—as if she were trying to convince herself.

“But we were. And we still might be.” Small chance of that happening now. If she was still considering his offer, he’d no doubt tipped the balance against himself. So much the better, though, if it kept her safe. And alive.

“I don’t understand. That was years ago.” Her gaze hardened. “And no one would expect us to become close again after everything that’s happened.”

“All but for a few heated encounters in corridors.”

Her pale cheeks bloomed purple, and she pressed her lips into a rigid line. “Simple enough to make certain that never occurs again.”

“And what about now?” Something perverse compelled him to step forward, to cross the
invisible barrier propriety dictate they maintain. Damn it, but he belonged closer to her than that. “We’re quite alone now, even if nothing scandalous is happening. Even though that might change at any moment.” Lord only knew he couldn’t resist the temptation she presented.

Her eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “Do you wish to live dangerously, then?”

“I already have for far too long.” Shite, there he went again, emulating his aunt. But whatever it was deep inside pressing him to goad, to tease, had taken over reason.

“I haven’t asked you to draw me into it.”

No, she hadn’t, but neither had Marianne. Still, he must think of his daughters. “I suppose that’s the reply to my proposal.” Until he’d dealt with the threat, at least. Disappointment settled over his shoulders like the first frost of November, but so be it. “Your safety is more important. As soon as my business with Battencliffe is finished, I will be gone to what remains of my family’s estates. I only ask for a day or two. In the meantime, we will alert the servants. And I will keep a close watch on you.”

“How close? You said yourself, you’re drawing the danger with you. Perhaps if you left …”

“I will not chance it, for it may be too late now.” He raked a hand through his hair. God, but he did not want to recall the day he’d come home to find Marianne dead, her throat slit, her blood like a lake congealing on the marble floor. “I was not at home when my wife died. If I’d been there … If …”

Damn it, he could not go on. And hadn’t he beaten himself up enough already over the guilt of leaving her? He should have suspected, should have
known.
By his own folly, he’d deprived the girls of their mother.

She swallowed hard enough that the muscles of her throat rippled. “I suppose it devastated you to lose her so suddenly.” She forced the words out; he could hear the strain in her voice. “Did you … did you find her?”

Devastated, yes, but not in the way she meant. “I’d rather not talk about it.” He couldn’t. Not without revealing secrets he’d sworn to keep.

“No, I don’t suppose you do.” Her tone all but cried,
Especially not to me.

Damn her, if only she’d trust him. He’d explained all he could yesterday. He wanted to put his hands back on her shoulders, give her a shake, and shout,
It’s not what you think!
But he knew the response he’d get to that. No, it wasn’t what she thought, but she wouldn’t take him at his word. His past actions and circumstances had already seen to that.

“We need to focus on what’s important here. Keeping you and the girls safe. And if that
means we rethink the sleeping arrangements, then God help me, that is what we will do.”

She raised a brow at him, and her expression softened not even a little. “You will not be moving my chamber next to yours.”

“No, of course not.” He’d been considering exactly that. “But I will move Satya into your rooms by the nursery. He can keep watch over the girls.”

“Satya?” She stepped back, her forehead wrinkling.

“I’ve explained that situation to you. He’d no sooner harm my daughters than he’d harm me.”

“Your aunt is going to see through this charade, you know.”

And if his aunt saw the move as him making headway in his supposed courtship of Henrietta, so much the better. The old harridan would be thrilled. “But I believe she’ll allow you to move into the guest bedchamber.”

Henrietta’s chest expanded at that, and he held up a hand to fend off the impending explosion. “I will be moving out, before you move in.”

“And where will you go?”

“Not next to you, trust me.” No, not next to her precisely, and he could never do anything so scandalous as suggest they share the room, even if he did sleep in a wing chair. But if he had to stand guard in front of her door all night to make sure she stayed safe, then by God, he’d do just that. And make sure he kept a close watch on all of them during the day.

He was not about to lose another loved one.

“We’ll need to pack our things. Immediately.” Alexander stalked into his—or rather the guest—chamber without pause. Henrietta’s new quarters. He might have shared them with her if not for this latest development. He
could
have brought her around to his way of thinking, given a little judicious persuasion. She’d wavered last night. So close.

“Sahib?”
Satya stood in the doorway to the dressing room, looking distinctly odd in a cast-off version of Lady Epperley’s livery, like an out-of-place excuse for a valet.

The sight reminded Alexander of some of his countrymen in Calcutta. The vain idiots insisted—ridiculously—on clothing their Indian servants in similar fashion, condemning the poor victims to fainting from the heat more often than not. “Good God, what have they got you all jumped up like that for?”

Satya ran a palm down the front of a sapphire blue velvet waistcoat, an exact match for the breeches. All the man needed were clocked stockings, a pair of red-heeled shoes, and a few more ruffles at his throat, and he’d be the height of fashion—at least when Lord Epperley was alive.

“Your aunt lent me some more clothes.”

Alexander breathed in a lingering scent of incense, the foreign aroma in direct contrast to their entirely proper English surroundings. “At least she didn’t force you to powder your hair. That would have been taking matters a bit too far.”

Anyone else would have cracked a smile. Satya merely blinked slowly, like a contented cat in a sunny corner. “And what have we to pack?”

The man had a point. Alexander had been making do with garments left behind by Albemarle, according to his aunt. He didn’t want to consider their origin too carefully, or he might be forced to draw the conclusion that Lady Epperley had named her cat after a gentleman friend. Whoever had left his clothes behind was tall and strapping with tastes running toward the expensive.

Alexander suppressed a shudder. “Very little, yet we must vacate these apartments.”

“Are we leaving?” Satya’s tone remained perfectly even, as if Alexander were in the habit of ordering them to depart their current accommodations at a moment’s notice.

Maybe that was the best plan. He could remove his aunt and Henrietta from the line of fire, but that would mean uprooting the girls once more, and finding a place for them all to stay.
He could hardly beg lodging from his mother with danger following in his wake. “For now, I’d like you to keep close watch on the girls at night, so you’ll be taking Miss Upperton’s room.”

After his conversation with Henrietta, he’d checked on his daughters. Fine and blissfully unaware of anything amiss, thank the heavens. Indeed, they’d been sniping at each other over a hair ribbon. Henrietta had rushed to sort the matter out, and Alexander had every confidence that she’d do just that. For a woman who claimed no experience with children, she was surprisingly at ease with his girls. She would have made them an excellent mother …

“Yes,
sahib.
” Satya’s reply broke in on Alexander’s musings.

And that was all Satya said. No inquiry as to the reason. No asking where Alexander would be staying. Just simple, unquestioning obedience, as if the man had been trained from birth to such a position. Except Alexander knew he hadn’t.

Satya turned and disappeared into the dressing room, no doubt to gather his few things. Not a single muscle of his posture belied the slightest hint of resentment at where fate had led him—from a revered position as tutor to Nilmani’s son to owing his life to an Englishman. To being made a servant grateful for his very existence. Condemned now to live half a world away from his homeland in a place where the color of his skin and his foreign manners guaranteed a cool reception at best.

What human wouldn’t resent such misfortune? Yet, on the surface leastways, Satya did not.

Alexander knew what it meant to be beholden to another for his life. The debt was a costly one, indeed. He shook away the thought.

“Do you think it could be happening again?” He launched the words in the general direction of the dressing room.

No response, but perhaps Satya hadn’t heard him. Alexander barely wanted to admit it to himself. To do so would mean facing his failures in India. He’d sworn to a dying Harry that he’d protect Marianne. Even before speaking the vows that had forever separated him from Henrietta, he’d taken on the duty of safeguarding Harry’s betrothed in a dangerous land. Taken it on and failed utterly.

An urge to smash something exploded in him, and he clenched a fist. He’d sacrificed Henrietta in vain. “The devil take it.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir?”

He turned to find a mobcapped maid hovering in the doorway.

“I can come back another time if it ain’t convenient.” The freckle-faced girl held a multi-colored
bundle in her arms.

“Please, come in.” Alexander waved a hand toward the bed.

The maid crossed to it and set her burden down. Gowns, plain ones in muted colors of gray and lavender, cascaded over the counterpane. Henrietta’s wardrobe, of course. Sensible clothing fit for a paid companion—or a governess. And the colors …

Marianne had donned such weeds after Harry’s death, after her father’s. And who might Henrietta be mourning? God, it had never occurred to him to inquire. Gone for years, and he hadn’t thought to ask after her family. He’d overlooked her the way he’d overlooked everything except his own affairs.

“Shall I just leave them for now?”

Right. The maid awaited his instruction. “I’ll be vacating this bedchamber. Just as soon as my man’s cleared my things out, you might put those away.”

“And what is all this nonsense about changing rooms?” cracked a familiar voice. “Unless … Has Miss Upperton accepted your proposal?”

Curse it, as if the situation couldn’t get any worse, his aunt had to poke her nose into it. At the sight of her employer, the maid dropped a hasty curtsey and scuttled off.

“A mere precaution, I assure you.”

“Precaution?” The old lady advanced on him, her gait solid despite her frail appearance. “That does not sound the least bit encouraging. What on earth must you guard against? I’ll have you know Albemarle dislikes such disruptions to his routine.”

The damned cat again. Absently, Alexander brushed a palm over his waistcoat. “Must I remind you that Miss Upperton suspects someone came into her chambers in the middle of the night? I only wish to ensure my daughters’ safety by installing Satya close by.”

“She claimed it was Albemarle.” Lady Epperley sniffed. “I knew that was utter poppycock. And I must assume in the absence of an announcement you were not the party involved.”

“No, not at all.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw and prayed for patience. “I prefer not to alarm you, but—”

“Then, pray, do not. I’ve enough difficulties with my cook’s complaints. She’s running on about Albemarle in her kitchens, but I know that is also nonsense.”

“I’ve no choice. My wife”—for some reason, the word was difficult to pronounce—“died under suspicious circumstances, and before that her father. I’m afraid I’ve brought the danger back from India with me. But no matter. As soon as I can arrange for our removal to other
lodgings, you shall be quit of us.”

He waited for the inevitable request for details. Any reasonable person would have demanded to know more, but his aunt was hardly known for her logical mind.

“You cannot leave. Not unless you take Miss Upperton away from here as your bride.” She drew herself impressively straight for a woman her age. One of Alexander’s tutors had held himself in such a manner while expounding on the vagaries of the third declension. “You have yet to make that happen.”

“I am afraid that is impossible now. After everything else, it would be unconscionable of me to place her in such danger.”

“The chits these days, swooning over the smallest trifle.” Somehow his aunt made a cackle sound like a girlish giggle. “In my day, a lady liked a taste of danger. It kept things interesting.”

Good God, he did
not
need to know such things about his great-grandaunt.

“At any rate,” she went on, “should you manage to bring yourself up to scratch, I have arranged for a special license in your name. It would be lovely if we could get the entire business taken care of when your mother and sisters arrive.”

“My mother and sisters?”

“I’ve already told you, they are on their way here.”

Christ. Things were growing worse and worse. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you not send someone with a notification and tell them not to come?”

“Naturally, I cannot. As I said, they’re no doubt en route. There’s no telling when they might arrive.”