An Invitation to Sin (10 page)

“I had to speak to you!” Anna swiftly turned her gaze to a still life on the wall, but the image of his body was imprinted in her brain. She’d never seen a real muscular male torso before in her life, and the wonder of it had her dizzy—golden, contoured like the finest classical statue …

“Why?”

She had to turn back. When she did, he had pulled on a shirt. That helped her equanimity, but no one could think he was pleased with her. “I … I’ve been thinking about Lady Delabury, and the novel, and everything …”

“Yes?” Then before she could answer, he said, “Damnation. It’s not much past nine. Surely someone might check on you.”

“Not usually.”

“It would be just our luck.” He grasped her wrist and pulled her toward the door.

“Stop! What—”

“Be quiet and come along.”

Since he’d already towed her into the corridor, Anna had little chance but to be quiet; however, inside she was seething. He was going to throw her back into her room and nail the door shut without giving her a chance to explain her thoughts.

At the secret door he stopped and let her go. “All looks well.”

“I told you so!” she snapped, rubbing her wrist.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. But I’ve no mind to be entangled in another scandal.” His tone was courteous, but merely the courtesy he would give a stranger.

An intrusive stranger.

Anna felt rather sick, but she spoke up. “I do need to talk to you, my lord.”

He leaned back against the wall. “Talk, then. But keep your ears open. If it seems anyone might enter your room, dash in and shut the door. If they see the door you can claim to have just discovered it.”

Though she was still rather cross with him, Anna had to admit that made sense, and moved into her room. “Count Nacre is an anagram of Lord Carne,” she whispered.

“Of course.”

She stared at him. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“It didn’t strike me immediately.”

Anna frowned at him. “And perhaps you didn’t want anyone to know?”

He looked at her sharply, and he may even have colored, though that could just be the setting sun shining through her lace curtains. “You really are too sharp for your own good, Anna.”

She swallowed and said the awful words. “Your father was Lady Delabury’s lover.”

After a moment he said, “Then why did she make him the villain of the book?”

Anna had worked out a rationale. “I think the affair must have been over, and it was a kind of blackmail. She was threatening your father that she had merely to direct her husband’s attention to the novel for him to guess the truth. But she couldn’t make him the hero. He was too old. So she made him the villain. I realized that was what was wrong with the book. Even though Count Nacre is supposed to be the villain, Dulcinea is … is too drawn to him. It’s difficult to believe she truly wants to escape.”

“Too clever by half indeed. How do you come to understand these things?”

“I read a lot.”

“I always knew it was a mistake to allow women to read.” But he smiled slightly and the barriers between them were lower.

“Did your father kill her?”

“It was looked into. He was in Norfolk at the time.”

“Oh.” Anna had forgotten that. Also, she felt she had walked into a wall, the wall of his reticence. She chipped away anyway. “Was it a true suicide, then? There was the note.”

“A dose of laudanum and a note was exactly in Lady De-labury’s style. Suicide wasn’t. She thought herself much too important to leave before her time. Look, Anna, I know this must tantalize you, but I want you to leave it alone.”

“But what of Lord Delabury? He’s going to call you out!”

“He already has. That’s why I came home. He threw a glass of wine at me in White’s.”

Anna gasped and clutched his shirt. “No!”

He touched her cheek fleetingly. “Hush. Our seconds did their appointed duties for once. We managed to have a discussion and it is all sorted out.”

“Oh, thank God. But how? How did you convince him? Did you tell him about your father?”

He sighed and freed his shirt from her grasp. “He knew. Or suspected.” He had not released her hands. “Delabury’s belief that his wife was unfaithful had been a source of contention throughout their marriage, though his suspicions had naturally fallen on younger men such as myself, especially as such types were always the heroes of her novels. It was only after her death that he began to wonder about my father. He didn’t want to accept it. He, too, is a bit of a romantic and he doesn’t much care for the fact that his wife preferred a man twice his age, and … My father was a hard-drinking, hard-riding old rip, if you want the truth. Delabury found a journal of hers. It named no names but made it clear that part of the charm of her lover was his domination and roughness … Good Lord, I should not be speaking of such things to you!”

He began to move away, but Anna held on to his hands and he did not fight free. “Don’t worry, my lord. I have read Greek tragedies. I suppose this explains why she was in your father’s bedchamber. She wanted to frighten him back into the affair. Or perhaps just experience more of his roughness,” she added thoughtfully, causing Lord Carne to raise his brows. “But this still doesn’t explain why she died.”

“Perhaps she simply miscalculated her dose …”

“Or perhaps someone forced her to take more. But who …?”

He switched his grip so he was holding her hands, controlling her. “The main thing is that Delabury accepts that I lacked sufficient reason to kill her.”

“Sufficient? You lacked
all
reason!”

“Did I? The woman was flirting with me, and generally doing her damnedest to make it look as if we were having an affair. This and possibly other suspicions were upsetting my mother, who was not well even then. That in turn was upsetting my father, for in his own way he cared for my mother. I suspect that was the reason he ended the affair, and that was why Lady Delabury staged her suicide. He was expected back that night and should have found her in his bed. But he took ill just before leaving home. My mother came back alone, since she had commitments in town. It was she who found the body.”

A blinding certainty struck Anna. She stared at him, and even opened her mouth, but then balked at putting it into words.

“Wise Anna,” he murmured.

She remembered the blithe young man of the portrait and wanted to cry. “But you went abroad. For so long!”

“It was no great hardship. In fact,” he added with the ghost of a boyish grin, “I enjoyed it immensely. But you are right. In the beginning I left England to avoid Delabury, who was a lot less rational then than now.”

“Because you knew that in such a case your mother would come forward—”

He laid his fingers over her lips. “Remain wise, Anna. It’s over now. All it will ever be is an unsolved mystery.”

“People will still talk.”

“A fig for gossips.” He moved away then, and began to leave.

“Can I ask just one more question?”

He halted warily. “Yes, though I don’t promise to answer it.”

“How did your father die? It was within days of Lady Delabury’s death.”

His features hardened. “The event killed him. Perhaps his sickness had been more serious than we thought, but I don’t think so. As soon as he had word of Lady Delabury’s death, he rushed to London. His heart gave out on the way.”

“I have another question.”

His lips twitched. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I don’t understand Lady Delabury. Her husband was apparently young, handsome, and in love with her. Why was she having an affair with an elderly man? And what did she hope to gain from her mock suicide?”

“I’m pleased to see that some human behavior still perplexes you, Anna. My father at the time was only forty-five. That may seem ancient to you, but he was a fine figure of a man. One could ask rather why she married Delabury at all.” He looked into the distance. “She wanted marriage, I think. She wanted a title. I suspect she was rather naive. She lived quietly with her parents before her marriage, then married someone very like the heroes of her novels. I’m sure she thought she would find the blissful happiness that occurred at the end of her stories, but instead was rather disappointed. Then she met my father and discovered she was a woman who finds older men attractive. Moreover, she found adoration boring and challenge stimulating.”

“That seems very strange to me.”

He smiled at her. “So it should. You, of course, have daydreams about handsome young gallants with pure hearts and the most noble of intentions.”

She had daydreams about him, but she muttered, “I suppose so.”

“Is the mystery solved to your satisfaction?”

Anna touched the door. “I’m still not quite sure how they had this made without raising suspicion.”

“Delabury still has no idea about the door, but I asked him about the room. Apparently Lady Delabury asked that such a room be made and he agreed. She even specified the firm to do the work. That firm was the one regularly employed by my father, so it must have been collusion. He was clearly infatuated beyond all sense …”

When he broke off, she feared he would not complete the tale, but he carried on. “At the same time that this room was made, he had renovations done to his house, including his bedroom. I talked to the builder, who still has responsibility for the maintenance of the terrace. It was simply a matter of keeping mouths shut about a little extra detail in the work. Straightforward enough for the builder in return for the job of looking after all the earldom’s property in London.”

“Oh. It is rather disappointing that in the end everything turns out to be so rational and lacking in drama.”

He shook his head, smiling. “There’s been enough drama for me, I assure you. You would rather I be meeting De-labury at dawn?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I suppose I ’d rather there was a wicked villain to suffer an appropriately grisly fate.”

“But this is life, not a novel, Anna, and there’s trouble enough in the world without looking for more. Certainly no good would be served by dragging my invalid mother before the courts.” He stepped backward. “Now, this time it really is farewell, Anna. I don’t want to risk suspicion by having the builders in to seal this door, but I will if I have to. I want your word that you will not use it again under any circumstances.”

Anna gathered her courage. “I love you, you know.”

He met her eyes. “I hope you don’t. It is—”

“Just infatuation,” she completed bitterly. “A girl of my age is
capable
of love, you know. In the past, girls were married younger than sixteen!”

He put his hand hard over her mouth. “Hush. Unless it is your plan to have us discovered.”

Anna went hot and red. “How dare you!” she whispered when he released her. “I would never sink to that.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t. My apologies, Anna. But you must recognize that the world would have a collective case of the vapors at the thought of our marriage. I’m fourteen years older than you, theoretically old enough to be your father, and have lived those fourteen years to the full.”

“And do such things matter to you?”

“They would matter to your father, I’m sure.”

“Are you saying you would marry me if my father consented?”

She did not see him move, but it felt as if he had stepped farther away from her. “Anna, stop this. There is no question of marriage between us. Our meetings have been pleasant, but that’s as far as it goes. You will get over your current insanity and in time you will meet a suitable young gentleman and be—”

To salvage some of her pride, Anna stepped back and closed the door in his face. Then she sat down and won a battle with tears. He was doubtless right. In time it would not seem so tragic. Thank heavens that she, unlike Maria, would have a few years to recover from her own forbidden affection.

She got up and blew her nose fiercely. In two years time when she entered Society with marriage in mind she would have entirely forgotten the Earl of Carne. It would be much more sensible anyway to marry a man closer to her own age. When she was in her prime, Lord Carne would be a gouty ancient.

She blew her nose again.

Then she heard the screams.

She dashed out into the corridor, then headed toward the noise coming from downstairs. A servant, she assumed, but in some terrible distress.

It was Maria—a tattered, bruised, hysterical Maria.

Lord and Lady Featherstone were already with her, helping her into the drawing room.

“He hit me!” she gasped between sobs. “He
hit
me!”

Sir Jeffrey glanced around. “Anna, get some brandy.” He looked back to his older daughter. “Who hit you? Where were you? What have you been doing?”

“Hush, Featherstone,” said his wife, dabbing at Maria’s dirty, bruised face with her lace handkerchief. “Oh, poor darling. Water. We need water. Who did this to you?”

Maria stared at her mother a moment as if lost for words. Then she said, “Lord Carne! It was Lord Carne. I went out into the garden, and he tried to … I fought him … Lord Carne.”

There was a gasp from the hovering servants. Anna gasped, too, then dazedly brought over the glass of brandy. Sir Jeffrey made Maria drink a little.

Anna studied her disheveled sister, wondering what on earth was going on.

Maria coughed as the fiery spirit went down, but it seemed to calm her, so that she could lie back on the sofa. With a chill, Anna saw that one of the sleeves of her sister’s gown was hanging loose, and it seemed someone had slashed the front so that it gaped, almost showing her breasts.

A servant arrived with a bowl of warm water and a cloth and Lady Featherstone began to wipe her face. “Now, Maria, you must tell us exactly what happened to you.”

Maria’s eyes were still wide with what looked like terror. “He attacked me!”

“Lord Carne?”

Maria closed her eyes and nodded.

“When?” Anna demanded urgently. She couldn’t believe he had done such a thing.

“Just now,” Maria said. “What a stupid question!”

Anna had a moment to consider, to contemplate keeping silent. A moment to consider all the consequences. She swallowed. “Then it wasn’t Lord Carne.”