A Most Improper Rumor (4 page)

Ever.

She’d keep her lover’s identity a secret to her grave if need be.

Hopefully that would not come to pass.

Chapter 5

I
t was not a perfect time to get into an argument, but, then again, did such a thing exist?

There
was
no good time. Alicia knew it, and to that end she’d avoided Ben that morning, but unfortunately, though he didn’t normally join her for luncheon, he was there at the table when she entered the room, rising politely, a perfunctory smile on his mouth.

Well, if it was really a smile. His glittering gaze indicated otherwise. To someone else, he might have seemed congenial and welcoming, but she knew him better than that.

Oh dear
. She was caught out.

Alicia settled into her chair with seeming nonchalance and accepted her napkin from the footman. “My lord. How lovely to see you at this time of day. Usually you are far too busy to join me.”

“A man needs to eat, and sometimes to speak with his wife, so combining the two seemed to be fortuitous.”

Drat
. Truly caught out. How the devil could he know she’d visited Lady DeBrooke?

Yet it seemed he did. “Speak with his wife?” She declined a glass of wine because she had no stomach for it lately and took a goblet of water instead, giving him a hopefully guiltless inquiring look.

Which did not work.

“From your expression you know precisely why I wish to have a conversation. Do not immerse yourself in this investigation, madam.”

And here she thought she’d done innocent quite well.
Madam
. Whenever he called her that, he was displeased. “Um, how so?”

“Alicia, please.” He waited until the footman left the room and said abruptly, “Do not call on anyone without my express permission.”

That was high-handed enough that she stiffened. It took a moment before she responded, during which she drew a long breath. “Anyone? That seems to be a bit extreme. Do you care to rephrase?”

He didn’t. She could tell, and she would have been amused by his expression if she hadn’t been so personally affronted.

Not to mention guilty as accused. Still, he could have handled it much, much better in her opinion.

“I forbade you to interfere.” His tone was deceptively level and calm.

“Benjamin, you might be my husband, but you aren’t my keeper.” She took a bite of bread, which was warm and luscious; oddly enough, when she wasn’t fighting nausea, she was ravenous. “And please, spare me all that male blustering about privilege and power. I am your wife, not your possession, and since I happen to know you are intelligent enough to acknowledge it, don’t you wish to know what I learned?”

“I think you probably learned that the servants were not the same at the time either husband met his untimely death, she has very little idea of who might be behind all of this, and she still did not reveal the name of the man who precipitated her action to call on me.”

Well, that was accurate, she supposed. “I didn’t ask the latter,” she said with a shade of defensiveness. “Surely it was worth a try.”

“My darling wife, how do you think I found out you visited Lady DeBrooke in the first place? I am quite naturally having her household watched and have talked to not just her, but her staff.”

“Oh.” She’d been discreet and careful, and really . . . Wait,
was
she his darling? “I was trying to help,” she pointed out.

“I realize that. The spirit in which you disobeyed me was never in doubt.”

Had there not been the slightest hint of dry humor in his tone, she would have taken much greater exception to the word
disobey
. Alicia set down her goblet. “I am not a child.”

“I think I am the last person on this earth who needs to be reminded you are very much a woman, a fact I have proved to show great appreciation for at every opportunity possible. However, that does not change my stance on this matter.”

“Please explain to me why.” It seemed a fair-enough request.

The sun slanted in the long windows, laying patterns on the rug. It was lovely if a little faded in spots, the rich colors muted, just as the conversation appeared to be when he didn’t respond at once. Finally he added in a completely dispassionate tone, “Now and again, I deal with dangerous people.”

She’d always thought so, though he’d never said as much before.

Somewhat of a coup to gain that honest admission. It softened the lecture at least a little.

Alicia said carefully, “I don’t think Lady DeBrooke is—”

“I don’t think so either, but most of England believes she murdered two men. Can you do me the courtesy of respecting my instructions? I worry about you, and please note I worry about our child as well.”

Well, blast it. That is hard to argue.

Had he dictated and not been so infernally polite, she could take greater umbrage, but he merely offered the butter for the piece of bread she’d already devoured, his expression unreadable.

“Can’t we come to a compromise?” she suggested delicately, setting the butter aside.

“Of what sort?” He sat back as the soup course arrived, his hazel eyes inquiring but also wary.

When they were alone again, she dipped her spoon in the china bowl and took a sip of the steaming broth before she answered. “If you will allow me to help in any way you deem safe, I will promise not to do anything without consulting you first.”

“That sounds reasonable enough,” her husband said dryly, “so that alone makes me suspect there is some clause in there I am unaware of, but I agree to your terms.”

That was really all she asked. To be included in his life outside of their bedroom as often as possible because he was so very busy and never would he involve her in his business affairs, nor did she find that very interesting anyway. Women were not allowed in his club, or in Parliament. That left his other interest, which was horse racing, and though she enjoyed the sleek magnificence of the bloodstock, her involvement went no further.

“I don’t think I would call it terms.”

He also tasted the soup, which was delicious, and evidently didn’t choose to pick up that gauntlet. “So, what are your plans for today, my dear?”

That was part of the problem. She wasn’t one of those society ladies who thrived on gossip and spent inordinate amounts of time on her toilette or at the dressmaker. She preferred to use her time on more cerebral pursuits rather than waste her day on the silly machinations of the
ton
. “I am going to perhaps read that new novel everyone is aglow over. The garden should be pleasant this afternoon.”

“A suitable day for a lady. I took the liberty of purchasing that book for you. I think you’ll find it on your dressing table. A quiet afternoon of reading sounds restful and appropriate for a woman in your condition.”

Ye gods, the irritating man can read my mind even when it comes to my choice in literature.

It was impossible not to look at him in open challenge. “Are you going coddle me my entire confinement, my lord?”

“I might.” His slight smile was unapologetic. “After all, you are
my
wife, and that is
my
child you are carrying. Surely I am allowed to ‘coddle,’ as you put it.”

“Aren’t you the same man who found it difficult to express his feelings over becoming a father?”

“I find it difficult to express my feelings over quite a lot of things, Alicia.”

Now
that
was true.

And how did a person argue with it, after all, since it was compellingly honest.

“I’ve never seen you possessive before.” Her voice was reserved and soft. “I admit I find it an intriguing change.”

“Possessive?” His dark blond hair was lit by the sunlight, his chiseled features impassive as usual. “I am not sure that is the right term. I’m protective. Quite different.”

“Is it?” She wasn’t as sure. But the disclosure was a rarity with a man usually so contained with his emotions. “I want to make you happy, not worry you.”

Ben regarded her with a direct look that left the moment suspended between them. Then to her amazement, he said, “You
do
make me happy.”

* * *

The stands were full on such a beautiful afternoon, the racing silks brilliant in the sunshine, and Ben made his way to his private box alone through the crowd, his mind elsewhere. He had two horses entered and one of them was a green three-year-old that his trainer thought held promise and needed the experience, but the other one really stood a fair chance of winning. Neptune had been strong last season especially, and as full as his schedule might be, Ben couldn’t resist taking a little time for his personal indulgence. Soon it would be too cold and there would be no racing until spring.

He loved horses. He loved the reckless speed of the fierce competition to be first, and had he not grown so tall so young, he would have loved to be an amateur jockey in his youth if his father had allowed it. Since he was an heir, that was improbable. Instead, he found himself relegated to the role of owner, especially when his father died and he inherited one of England’s finest stables.

“Heathton.”

The hand on his arm jolted him out of his distraction, and he found himself looking into the face of Randolph Raine, Lord Andrews, now married to Alicia’s cousin, the one who had been the subject of his abstracted thoughts. Since they both shared a passion for racing, it was not a particular surprise to see him. Andrews had a fine stable as well.

“Tell me you aren’t entered in the race about to start,” he said by way of greeting. “Not with that black colt you outbid me for.”

Lord Andrews grinned. “I’m afraid so. We can watch it together if you’d like. I’ll have a bottle of brandy delivered.”

It would be churlish to refuse, and besides, he rather wanted to talk to the viscount. “Agreed.”

Moments later, with a hovering attendant dismissed because neither of them really had much pretension and Ben was certainly capable of pouring his own drink, he said in a conversational tone, “I think maybe you might be interested in a little story I have to tell.”

Relaxed in his chair, Andrews lifted his brows, tearing his gaze momentarily from the track where the jockeys were taking the horses around for a warm-up lap at a walk. Some of the magnificent animals were restless against the bit and rein, and some were placid and seemingly oblivious to the crowd. “May I ask what kind of story? It had better be damned fascinating, because as we have ascertained, I have a horse in this race and so do you.”

“I think you’ll find it riveting enough since it involves the same person who had you kidnapped.”

That whipped the viscount’s head around, as he’d thought it would. “The bastard has struck again?”

“I think more like struck before,” Ben said musingly, fingering his glass of brandy. The horses were lining up now at the gate and that always took some time.

“You said it was pointless to pursue it once Elena and I had been freed.”

“Not quite,” Ben disagreed pleasantly. “I said it was pointless for
me
to pursue it because it all had resolved nicely, but I think I have changed my mind.”

It was true. He’d discovered who was overtly responsible for the scandal involving Lady Elena and the viscount, but he hadn’t revealed the name to Andrews, and he had his reasons. That acknowledged, what he hadn’t managed to find out was who had organized the actual abduction itself.

A very clever individual, someone cunning, and without moral conscience, that was all he knew. Willing to ruin a young lady without remorse, his methods extreme and calculated.

Lady DeBrooke’s story had truly caught his attention because of the similarities, and he was rather . . . intrigued. Unfortunately, so was Alicia, but luckily he thought they’d settled all of that this afternoon.

“I don’t suppose you are going to tell me why.” Andrews picked up his brandy snifter and tossed back a good measure. “You tend to do this, you know. Dangle out small clues that seem innocuous enough until one really thinks about it. It’s a gift, Heathton, and I am glad I don’t have it. Can you give me at least a hint over this turnabout?”

The race had started, but Andrews didn’t seem to even notice the retort of the gun. Sprawled in his chair, his signature dark hair rumpled—after all he didn’t have the nickname the Raven for no reason—he was the epitome of male elegance and yet not foppish in the least. It might have been the gleam of purpose in his eyes.

It wouldn’t hurt to ask. “Do you know anyone who might be scholarly enough to understand a rare form of ancient Chinese?”

“Do I . . .
what?
Why ever would I?”

“It is a legitimate question. Think about it and answer.”

Lord Andrews paused then, as the horses thundered by the first curve, and then shook his head. “Honestly, even including the dons at Cambridge during the time I was there having foreign languages forced down my throat, I can’t imagine anyone who might be remotely interested in that topic is of my acquaintance. Why?”

“Whoever had you and Elena abducted signs his name with a symbol that is archaic and obscure. I didn’t think whoever it might be was a personal acquaintance of yours, but it never hurts to turn over every stone.”

The man across the table didn’t say anything for a moment but finally watched the race with an abstract gaze. “My sense of outrage and need for revenge are tempered by my happy marriage, but I will say I can’t completely forgive the helpless fury I experienced when I realized my life was being manipulated. In these months that have followed, I’ve wondered more than once if what happened between Elena and me turned out as expected, or if the culprit was infuriated when we married. Certainly there was no going back for her. She was irrevocably ruined.”

“Unless you chose to take the honorable course.”

The viscount’s smile was crooked. “Or fell hopelessly in love.”

Apparently it was easier for some men to admit it than for others. Noncommittally, Ben shrugged. “But there was no certainty you would.”

“No.” Moodily, the viscount sank lower in his chair. “I resented the hell out of being put in such a situation, believe me. Had I been locked in with any other young lady than Elena and compromised her reputation without any real intention on my part, I would never have offered marriage. I’m no saint, but it wasn’t my fault.”