After the Abduction (12 page)

“You know, Lord Templemore,” she said blithely, “I’m still puzzled by one matter. If your brother is dead and you knew nothing of his actions, then who started the rumors about the kidnapping? And why?”

“I told you before, it was undoubtedly a servant.”

“Not one of mine,” Griff said. “My servants are paid well not to gossip.”

“Yes,” Lord Templemore said, “but considering your profession—”

“You mean ‘trade’?” Griff snapped.

“I mean dealing in smuggled goods,” his lordship said smoothly.

Griff bristled. “I don’t do it anymore. My business has been legitimate for years.”

He shrugged. “Still, the connection undoubtedly made you enemies. Someone might have paid your servants even more money to be disloyal.”

“For what reason?” Griff sounded offended at the thought that the gossip might be his fault. “How could an enemy benefit from sullying my sister-in-law’s reputation?”

Lord Templemore retreated. “It was merely a conjecture.”

“And a bad one, too,” Griff retorted.

This didn’t suit her purpose, Griff’s sniping at his lordship. It would only put Lord Templemore on his guard. “It wasn’t Griff’s servants,” she put in, “nor ours. Helena covered all that up very well. Since she alone saw my note, she told everybody—the servants, the townspeople—that we’d been summoned to London by
Griff and Rosalind, who were returning early from their honeymoon and would meet us there. Then before she set off after me, she told everybody that she’d had to send me on first because she’d had to deal with some last-minute estate matters.”

“And they swallowed that?” Lord Templemore said incredulously. “They didn’t connect your sudden departure with Morgan’s?”

“If they did, they’ve never said anything to me or my family. Everybody in Stratford knew that ‘Captain Will Morgan’ expected to return to his supposed regiment soon. And Helena always had the reputation for being the soul of propriety. They’d never dream she’d countenance any impropriety in her family.”

“Ah, but young ladies don’t always listen to their older sisters on matters of propriety. Didn’t they suspect you might ignore your sister’s stellar example?” When Juliet glowered at him, he added with the merest hint of a smile, “Forgive me, but even well-bred young women can be impetuous enough to run off with ‘dashing rogues’ like my brother.”

How dared he echo her own words? “I was never regarded as impetuous
or
brave by the townspeople.”

“Yet you must have possessed a little of those qualities to have risked eloping.”

“I eloped because your brother deceived me into thinking him a worthy suitor.”

“If you’d thought him a worthy suitor,” Lord Templemore said coolly, “you would have sent him to your father to ask for your hand.”

Goodness gracious, but the man knew how to provoke her.
Remember the plan,
she cautioned herself.
Don’t lose your temper.
“I did try to do so, but Morgan convinced me it would be pointless. He said Papa would never approve of my marrying a mere army captain.” All of that was true, as he well knew.

“Morgan was right, even if it was only an excuse to lure you from home,” Rosalind interjected. “Papa wouldn’t have approved at all. He’d wanted better for you. These days, however, he’d be delighted if you wished to marry the butcher.”

“He would not,” Juliet protested weakly, grateful that her sister had changed the subject. It sounded uncomfortably as if Lord Templemore had been blaming
her
for his actions. She didn’t need him echoing her own self-reproaches. Especially when he knew perfectly well that he’d prevailed upon her to misbehave.

“Papa wants you to marry, you know,” Rosalind persisted. “We all do.”

“
I
say Juliet has been right to refuse her suitors heretofore,” Griff put in. “A sad lot, all of them.”

Bless her gruff brother-in-law for taking her side. He usually acted as if she couldn’t think for herself. When he followed his defense with an amiable wink, she beamed at him.

“Don’t encourage her, for pity’s sake,” Rosalind remarked. “I liked several of her suitors. How about that nice Lord Havering? You couldn’t have objected to him, Griff. He’s young, he’s handsome, he’s kind—”

“He’s a bloody idiot,” Griff said. “I once compared Prinny to Falstaff, and he asked me who Falstaff was and why he hadn’t met him in society.”

“Not knowing Shakespeare doesn’t make him stupid,” Rosalind grumbled.

Juliet laughed. “Really? But isn’t that why you disparaged a certain Lord Andrew to me? Because he attributed to Marlowe one of your precious Shakespeare’s plays?”

“That’s different.” She sniffed. “Lord Andrew actually
is
stupid.”

“Lord Havering is indeed a nice man,” Juliet went on. She really had liked him. She just couldn’t conceive of marrying him. “But we wouldn’t have suited.”

“Havering,” Lord Templemore mused aloud. “Isn’t he the man who accidentally shot himself in the foot while handing his friend the pistol to be used in a duel?” When Griff looked surprised, he added, “I heard about it from Uncle Lew. I understand it made Havering the laughingstock of London.”

Griff’s eyes sparkled with humor. “It put a damper on the duel as well.”

Rosalind sighed. “All right, so perhaps Juliet was better off without Lord Andrew or Lord Havering, though I didn’t realize Havering was quite that cork-brained. But what about the Marquess of Kinsley?”

“Isn’t Kinsley already married?” Lord Templemore remarked.

“Widowed,” Griff explained. “With three children. Apparently, my wife thinks Juliet ought to jump at the chance to inherit a family half grown.”

“It wasn’t the children that bothered me.” Juliet stabbed a piece of apple. “I liked them a great deal. But I found Lord Kinsley…er…distasteful.”

“Distasteful?” Rosalind snapped. “Why?”

“I’d rather not discuss it,” she mumbled and ate the apple sliver, praying they’d drop this embarrassing subject.

She should have known her brazen sister better. “Wait, I know why,” Rosalind said triumphantly. “Because of his cigars. You can’t abide men who smoke.”

“That’s not why,” she protested, though she did find smoking a disgraceful habit. The smell was so very hard to get out of the linens.

“You can’t deny it. It’s always something like that—smoking or snuff dipping or ragged fingernails or—”

“It was
not
that, Rosalind!” Why must her sister always think her the silliest creature in Christendom?

“Then what?”

She threw down her napkin and blurted out, “Because
he never looked anywhere but down my bodice when we danced. I daresay he didn’t even know I
had
a face. There, are you happy now?”

Juliet regretted her outburst when a painful silence ensued and Rosalind colored.

Finally, her sister whispered, “Oh Juliet, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You should have told us,” Griff remarked sternly. “I would have run him off.”

Judging from Lord Templemore’s thunderous expression, the man shared Griff’s sentiments. Given how he’d eyed her bodice himself earlier, it was quite hypocritical.

“What was there to say?” She shot Lord Templemore a pointed glance. “It’s not as if he was the first man to do it.” He raised an eyebrow unrepentantly, and she jerked her gaze back to Griff. “It’s just that Lord Kinsley was so very…obvious. He clearly had only one thing on his mind.” When Griff puffed up his chest in apparent outrage, she snapped, “And you shouldn’t be so self-righteous about it either. I’ve seen where your gaze lands when Rosalind wears one of her French gowns.”

Rosalind’s laugh turned into a cough when Griff glowered at her.

Lord Templemore hid a smile behind his napkin. “Really, Knighton, do you allow just any old fool to court your sister-in-law?”

“Allow?”
she hissed before Griff could retort. “I’ll have you know, sir, that I’m perfectly capable of handling myself with men.”

“Are you?” His smug tone reminded her that she’d complained earlier about her lack of instincts in that respect. Not to mention that she’d let his lordship kiss her quite shamelessly last night.

He flicked his gaze over her. “When you’re accepting
the attentions of men like Kinsley and Montfort, I have to wonder.”

“Montfort?” she echoed. “How did you know about him?”

Rosalind mumbled, “I…er…may have mentioned something earlier—”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Juliet said with heavy sarcasm. “Do go on, Rosalind. Why stop at telling a perfect stranger about my courtship disasters? Why not relate all my silly childhood peccadilloes, too—the time I got stuck in the butter churn, or the time I—”

“She merely told me you’d refused the Duke of Montfort’s suit,” Lord Templemore broke in, his voice oddly gentle. “And I told her you were right to do so.”

That softened her embarrassment. “Then you know Montfort.”

Lord Templemore shrugged. “A little. He spent one summer here when we were both fourteen and our fathers were friends. Is he still the soul of propriety in public and the soul of impropriety in private?”

“You’ve described his character exactly,” Griff said. “Though I’m surprised to hear you say it. Even men who know him are unaware of his…er…proclivities.”

“What proclivities do you mean?” Rosalind put in.

“Not the sort to speak of before young ladies,” Lord Templemore said firmly, with a glance at Juliet.

“This isn’t widely known, my darling,” Griff explained, “but although Montfort behaves like the quintessential gentlemen among his peers, he…Well, suffice it to say, Montfort may have every mama cooing over his charm and every little miss aching to steal his heart, but he isn’t what he seems.”

“If you knew this about him, why you didn’t keep him away from Juliet?” Rosalind asked, clearly intrigued.

“Now see here, I don’t need Griff to keep my suitors away,” Juliet protested.

They all ignored her. “I didn’t discover his true character until after she refused him,” Griff said. “That’s when Daniel informed me that he regularly visits…er…certain establishments.”

Rosalind looked appalled as her gaze swung to Juliet. “Did you know this?”

“I merely knew he disturbed me. I caught him lying once. On the way to a ball one night, I saw his carriage in a wicked part of town, and he later swore up and down that I’d been mistaken.” She shrugged. “But I’m not blind.”

Rosalind looked distressed. Apparently she’d pinned high hopes on Juliet’s marrying the duke. “They do say that reformed rakes make the best husbands—”

“The only people saying that,” Griff broke in, “are the rakes themselves, trying to seduce their latest victims. Any woman who believes it is already half in trouble.”

Lord Templemore nodded. “You might as well say that reformed thieves make the best bank clerks. The day the Bank of England starts hiring pickpockets is the day I’ll believe in the good character of reformed rakes.”

“Wait a minute here,” Rosalind protested, “my brother-in-law Daniel was something of a libertine before he married my sister, and you’d never find a more faithful husband. Love can make a man reform his habits.”

“Daniel’s an exception,” Juliet retorted. “But I wonder if Griff and his lordship aren’t right. Can a man who’s led a sordid life really change, even for love?” She cast Lord Templemore a taunting smile. “I promise you that if Morgan returned to England, swore he’d changed his ways, and then asked to marry me, I’d be highly suspicious.”

“I should hope so,” Griff ground out. “The bloody man kidnapped you.”

Lord Templemore looked less than pleased. “But what if you discovered he had a good reason for his actions?”

“Like what? I can’t imagine how he could excuse the
suffering he heaped on my family, the injury he nearly leveled to my reputation or for that matter, the injuries he inflicted on your family name. What possible reason could he give?” She boldly met his gaze, daring him to answer, to even hint at the truth.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “I still say my brother isn’t a villain.”

Coward,
she thought. “And I still say the proof is in his behavior.”

She was thoroughly enjoying his disgruntlement when a footman entered the room and approached Rosalind carrying a tray with a glass on it. “Mare’s milk for you, m’lady. Cook said to tell you she was able to get some after all.”

Rosalind blanched and shot a quick glance at her husband. Juliet followed her gaze to find Griff’s brow lowering into a deep scowl as he rose from the table.

Quickly, Rosalind reached for the glass, but Griff’s voice boomed out, “Don’t you dare!” When her hand hovered in midair, Griff ordered the footman, “Take that vile stuff away. And from now on, tell your cook to ignore any special requests from my wife.”

The footman glanced helplessly to his master, who gave a cursory nod. Juliet should have known that Lord Templemore would never come between a man and his wife. And what in creation was this all about?

Rosalind leaped to her feet and threw down her napkin. “You’ve gone too far this time, Griff Knighton! How dare you?”

He rose as well. “I won’t let you put that poison in your body!”

“Mr. Arbuthnot says—”

“That bloody quack! Him with his sheep’s urine and rabbit’s blood and mare’s milk…God knows what other rot is in his potion! I won’t stand for it, do you hear?”

“You’re such a beast! You have no right…” Rosalind trailed off into tears, then ran from the room.

Juliet stared after her in shock. Rosalind tended to be dramatic, but this went beyond drama. Rosalind never cried, not without great provocation. And to do so before a stranger…

Juliet’s accusing gaze swung to Griff. He looked grim and lost, standing there with one hand gripping the back of his chair and the other still braced on the table. He caught her stare, then seemed to realize what both she
and
Lord Templemore had witnessed.

He released a shuddering breath. “If…you will both excuse me, I must see to my wife.” Then he hurried from the room.

An oppressive silence loomed stark and sudden after such an emotional outburst. She had no idea what to say to his lordship or even how to explain the source of the argument. Mare’s milk? Why in creation would Rosalind want that? And rabbit’s blood and…