A Heart in Jeopardy (11 page)

The governess was taken aback by his manner but answered briskly. "From Miss Leonard, sir. We—the staff— know her to be the person responsible for Lady Christiana's kidnapping."

Chrissy's and Lucy's mouths opened in dumb surprise. "What?" they said together.

She gave them a gentle, superior smile. "I know it is hard to believe, but there it is."

"As heard from a Bow Street Runner, is that correct, Miss Benedict?"

"What Bow Street Runner?" demanded Lucy, her hands accidentally tightening on the reins. The horse sidled backward and Fitzhugh grabbed the harness. She scowled at her own clumsiness and nodded her thanks toward Fitzhugh, then returned her attention to her brother. "What are you talking about?"

"It means, little sister, that not content with setting fire to a dovecote or attempting to steal a horse, our enemies are now attempting to create dissention within the ranks. Howard North has been very busy hereabouts letting people believe he is a Bow Street Runner engaged in solving the mystery of Chrissy's kidnapping. But I never notified or engaged Bow Street, nor did I offer a reward, which is, I understand, the prime manner in which the Runners do business."

The governess blanched. "You did not contact Bow Street?"

"Haven't I just said so, woman?" Deveraux snapped. He shook his head in wonder at the stupidity of their loyal staff. With a staff as loyal as that they'd soon find themselves all murdered in their beds! "What I did was leave specific instructions that I was to be advised of any strangers in the area. I have not been and, as a consequence, North has been operating with impunity right at our back door!"

"Oh, dear," murmured Miss Benedict, beginning to wring her hands.

"How do you know it was this North fellow?" Lucy asked.

"His description matches the one that Sir Nathan got from the servants at Lion's Gate and from Miss Leonard and Miss Sprockett. The recent cut on his face is more than likely the wound Leo—I mean, Miss Leonard inflicted when she hit him with the carriage whip."

"And everyone believed him?" Lucy asked, confused.

Her brother nodded.

"That's stupid. How can anyone be that dumb?" She turned toward Miss Benedict, making a face at her as she shook her head.

"I suggest you head home. I believe Miss Benedict has not been the only person to show her antipathy."

"You mean stupidity," said Chrissy, folding her arms across her chest and giving her governess a disgusted look. "Poor Leona!"

Deveraux cracked a smile. "Why? Don't you think Miss Leonard will be able to put them all summarily in their places?"

Lucy shook her head. "She's capable, but I don't think she will. I don't think she's very good at looking out for herself. Just others," she said, gathering up the reins. Fitzhugh let go of the harness.

Deveraux laughed. "I find that hard to believe. We will see you back home. Come on, Fitzhugh."

As they turned to walk away, they heard Chrissy launch into Miss Benedict, calling her a gudgeon, a silly widgeon, a goose cap, and other names that got lost in the wind as the carriage headed back toward Castle Marin. The men ran to the blacksmith's shop.

"Rawson, would you mind keeping the horses here for a while?" Deveraux asked, flicking a coin in his direction. The blacksmith caught it easily and told him he'd be obliged. Then Deveraux turned toward the young groom who accompanied them into town. "Get your horse," he barked.

"Easy, Dev . . . We don't know how rampant this is."

"Oh, don't we? I'll wager it's on the lips and minds of everyone at Castle Marin and in the village. Do you know what that kind of rumor can do to someone?"

"Miss Leonard strikes me as a very strong person."

"She is, but no one's that strong," Deveraux said bitterly, "no one!"

"Leona! Where's Miss Leonard?''

Deveraux's angry voice resounded through the entrance hall and into the surrounding rooms. Leona heard him quite clearly from the library. She laid the book of poetry down beside her on the sofa.

"Nigel! What are you shouting for?" It was Lady Nevin. The countess sounded irritated. "Leona went into the village with Lucy and Chrissy."

"No, she didn't. Purboy, have you seen Miss Leonard?"

Leona tried but couldn't hear the butler's response.

"Damnation! You, too?"

"Nigel what is going on?" demanded Lady Nevin, her voice louder now.

Leona swung her feet to the floor and leaned forward, straining to hear the ensuing low-voiced conversation between Deveraux and his mother.

"Purboy, summon the staff to assemble here in fifteen minutes. No, there shall be no excuses. Absence shall mean immediate termination!" Deveraux suddenly ordered just before the door to the library crashed open, rattling pictures on the wall.

Leona fell back against the sofa cushions, one hand creeping up to cover her heart beating frantically in her chest. A tiny sound escaped her, a tiny mew of fear as she stared wide-eyed at the sight of Nigel Deveraux in the doorway. His black hair was in wild disarray, his dirt-streaked coat reminding Leona of the first time she saw him. A handkerchief wound around the knuckles of his right hand showed evidence of fresh blood.

He strode into the room and firmly closed the library door behind him, shutting out the curious faces of his mother, Maria, and Fitzhugh.

Leona shrank back into a comer of the sofa, biting her lower lip as her eyes searched his face for any clue to his thoughts.

He stopped three feet away and stood towering over her, his face a mask, his eyes hard, glittering gems. A muscle in the granite surface of one cheek jumped spasmodically. He stood staring down at her, taking in her pallor, her wide vulnerable eyes. Her expression tore at his insides. This was not how his Leona should be. She should be fighting and spitting and yelling enough to give the devil his due! What have they done to her?

He dropped down to his knees before her and softly repeated the question.

Dumbly, Leona shook her head.

"Leona—" Gently he reached out to pull her hand away from her heart and to enfold it in one of his own. "Tell me."

"No." The single word came out on a soft breath of air.

Deveraux swore and dropped her hand. He bowed his head a moment, then rose and ran his hand through his thick black hair. He paced before the sofa. "I know about the rumors," he said harshly and grimaced. "I know about Miss Benedict. She has been sharply reprimanded—more by Chrissy than me!" he added, a ghost of a reluctant smile pulling at his lips. "Obviously you also have become aware of what the servants are saying or you would not be hiding in here."

That stung. Her eyes flashed as she straightened her body and folded her hands in her lap. "I am not hiding!"

"No? Then why do I come in here to find you cowering?"

"I was merely uncertain as to your reaction. I didn't know—" She stopped, compressing her lips tightly as color swept up her cheeks.

"Didn't know if I believed them or not? Confound it, woman, how could you for a moment imagine . . ." He stared at her then swore under his breath. He walked to a nearby cabinet to pour himself a glass of port. He looked inquiringly at Leona. She shook her head. Grimly he tossed back the contents of the glass. "Not since that first half hour after I met you have I believed you were involved," he said distinctly, biting out each word. "Each day I spend in your company I see how ridiculous it was to hold the idea for even thirty minutes!"

"Thank you," she murmured, looking down at her hands.

"Still, that doesn't explain why you are cowering in here. It doesn't seem natural for you to cave in to lies."

"I am not cowering. I just wish to avoid scenes."

"You do not seem to have that notion normally," he observed caustically.

"That is different."

"How so?" he demanded. "No, please, don't turn your head away. I wish to understand."

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

"You are quick to defend others or to defend ideas. Why can't you now? ... Oh!" he said, pausing. He crossed back to the sofa with quick long strides and sat down beside her, searching her face. "Lucy was right. You can't defend yourself, can you? You can fight for anyone and anything else but not for yourself. Why is that?"

Leona squirmed. His words were truer than she cared to admit. "I-I believe people should accept themselves as they are. If they cannot..." She looked up into his eyes, searching for understanding for the thoughts she couldn't put into words.

She became lost in the glittering blue depths of his eyes. Suddenly there was warmth there. The image of sharply cut gems gave way to the velvety softness of blue cornflowers. The rigidity in his jaw muscles eased, allowing a smile to pull up on the corners of his lips and light his eyes. He reached out a gentle hand to caress the side of her face. Instinctively she pulled back, then stopped when he paused with a fleeting expression of pain in his eyes.

"How I have hurt you," he murmured, shaking his head sadly.

"No! No! Not you! How could you?" She caught his hand between her own and boldly carried it to the side of her cheek, tilting her head to fit in the curve of his calloused palm.

"I have railed at you for all the good you have done, saying you shouldn't, that you should leave everything to a man. Yet, in all honesty, if you did, you would not be the Leona I admire—the Leona I have come to love," he finished on such a whisper that Leona wondered if she heard right.

His head bent towards hers, his hands grasping her shoulders, pulling her nearer. Slowly, gently, giving her time to pull away if she felt she must, his lips settled over hers.

Leona sighed, her hands coming up to his head to touch the thick pelt of black hair that curled over his collar. Against her lips Deveraux groaned. Leona leaned into him, questing, curious. Her blood sang in her ears, and a curious coiling, tingling feeling came up from her toes.

Deveraux ran his hand down her back and around the curve of her spine until he could pick her up and shift her into his lap. "Oh, my proud beauty, my lioness," he murmured against her lips, "how could we have hurt you so?"

She parted her lips to deny his words, but no sound could come for he covered her mouth with his own, his kiss a fierce apology and demand. Willingly she answered his kiss, her own a passionate denial of what he would not let her say aloud.

When their lips finally parted, he leaned his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged, his hands trembling. "My God, Leona," he managed hoarsely. He lifted his head up to stare blindly at the ceiling as he clutched her tightly to him. Then he released her and set her gently back beside him on the sofa.

A knock on the library door had him surging to his feet. "Yes?" he snapped.

"The servants are assembled, sir," the butler called through the closed door.

"Thank you, Purboy. I shall be there directly." He held out his hand to her. "Come."

She hesitated.

"Leona, you must come. You see that, don't you? It is the only way I can go to battle for you, as you so courageously would do for us."

She took his hand and rose reluctantly. "It is no use. Someone has obviously poisoned their minds."

He glanced at her. "Yes," he agreed slowly. "I believe you are correct." Thoughtful now, he tucked her arm in his and drew her slowly toward the door. "Clever. Very clever. I shall not underestimate them again."

"Pardon?"

He cocked an eyebrow as he looked down at her. "It means, my dear, we have a traitor in our midst. Perhaps I did you more harm than good by bringing you to Castle Marin. I may have played directly into their hands."

Leona shivered.

He smiled at her crookedly. "Have faith. This is only a skirmish, a mere test of arms. We shall win the battle," he assured her before opening the library door.

Word of Deveraux's anger traveled swiftly through the household and estate staffs. Consequently it was a subdued group that gathered in the hall. Anxious, frightened faces looked first at Leona, then at Deveraux.

The butler cleared his throat and cautiously admitted that one person remained absent—George Ludlow, one of the grooms. Leona remembered him as the warm, bandy-legged fellow who saddled Lady Talavera for her every day.

Deveraux's face became a cold mask. Without a word he led Leona to where his mother stood with Lucy just returned from her outing, still wearing her bonnet and cloak. The two women gathered Leona to them, their arms protectively around her, their faces as set as Deveraux's. Fitzhugh and Maria stood to one side with Chrissy, who tucked her hand in Maria's while fat tears rolled down her tiny face. She dabbed at them with her handkerchief, her lips set in a stubborn line.

Deveraux walked through the hall, scanning the faces. Many he'd known for years. A few had a history of generations serving the Earl of Nevin. In their faces he saw fear, in others a stubborn bravado. Only a few, like Miss Jewitt, Lucy's dresser, Mrs. Henry, the housekeeper, and Gerby, the head groom, stood impassively, but that was their habitual mien.

"I should turn you all out!"

A keening wail came from one of the young housemaids. The other servants turned to stare angrily at her. Quickly she buried her face in her apron, muffling her sobs.

"Unfortunately," Deveraux continued, thoroughly disgusted, "that is not practical. Lady Lucille's betrothal ball is two days hence, and the first guests are due to arrive this afternoon. What I can do is promise you that if there is the slightest whisper of insult to Miss Leonard or Miss Sprockett, the perpetrator shall immediately be turned out without a character and possibly subject to prosecution."

"But, sir," protested one of the young grooms. He glanced around at his fellows for support. He saw a few encouraging faces so he plunged on. "We is only thinking of the family. It's her that's caused the problems. We don't want you takin' in by no hussy."

"Hussy! You impudent maw-worm!" Deveraux grabbed him by his leather vest and swung him into the center of the hall. "How dare you question my judgment! If you wish to retain your position, then you'd best be happy shoveling horse manure for that will be your duty for the next week. You'll shovel it from one pile to another and back again, endlessly. Maybe that will teach you to listen to filth!" roared Deveraux, dropping the man. He fell in a sprawl at Deveraux's feet. Quickly he grabbed up his fallen cap and scuttled to the side of the room.

"Isn't there any among you who is smart enough to realize that I might possess information you lack? Do you think I tell you everything? I know Miss Leonard is innocent!" He glared at every face in turn, his eyes thin slits of glittering ice.

"And I will tell you something else I know," he said with dangerous quiet. "One of you is not. So, I put it to you to look carefully at your fellows. Someone is responsible for starting the rumors regarding Miss Leonard. Someone is responsible for twisting the facts. And more than likely that someone is an accessory to Lady Christiana's kidnapping. I give warning now that when I discover who that person is, he, or she, may regret they ever heard of the Earl of Nevin."

He turned his back on them and approached his family, guiding them into the parlor. Leona looked up at him, worry clouding her autumn-colored eyes. He smiled at her, and a tentative smile of her own answered his.

"Purboy," Lady Nevin ordered with all the calm dignity of her years as Countess, "we'll have refreshments in the drawing room."

"Well, I don't ever want to see Miss Benedict again!" declared Chrissy after listening to her elders discussing the contretemps. "Tell her to go away, Uncle Nigel."

"Chrissy, that's unfair," protested Leona over the dismayed voices of Chrissy's family.

The mutinous child pouted. "She was mean to you."

"Honey, she wasn't mean to me," Leona soothed, moving to sit next to Chrissy on the couch. "She was trying to protect you in the only way she thought she could. Miss Benedict loves you, as do all the servants here."

"You are very generous, Leona," said Lady Nevin, a sad smile on her face.

"She has a warm and forgiving heart. I pray she never loses it," said Deveraux softly.

Leona looked up at him leaning against the carved marble mantelpiece. Her breath stuck strangely in her chest as memories of his kisses poured through her mind. A slight smile kicked up the comers of his mouth as if he could read her thoughts. She felt a warm blush rise up her neck. She turned away, flustered.

"I have an idea, Chrissy. Why don't you and Miss Benedict talk about it. I'll wager she's feeling pretty badly now. She probably expects you to dislike her and order her to go away. She might even be crying."

Chrissy tilted her head in thought, then nodded. "She does cry at the silliest things."

"She most likely needs cheering up, not more scolds."

"And that is what your father would wish you to do,
non
?" Lady Nevin added.

At the mention of her father Chrissy looked stricken. "Papa is always kind," she whispered.

"
Oui
. He would not wish Miss Benedict needless hurt."

Chrissy fidgeted in her seat, her face reflecting indecision and shyness.

"May I come with you?" offered Maria. "Maybe I can help get you talking together. Remember, I was a governess once. I know how she feels."

"You do? Oh, would you?"

The hopeful expression that lit Chrissy's face was nearly comical. Leona struggled against laughter. When she looked at the others, it appeared they also struggled against mirth.

In answer, Maria smiled and held out her hand. Eagerly Chrissy took it, and the two of them left the drawing room.

"And if you ladies will excuse me, I'll go to my room to clean up. We had a rather, ah, interesting morning in the village," Mr. Fitzhugh said, glancing down wryly at his dusty clothes.

Leona noted his soiled clothing with surprise. She'd not noticed it before, nor the wild disarray of his hair so out of character for Mr. Fitzhugh. Then again, she hadn't had eyes for anyone save Nigel since he walked into the library.