Anne Barbour (22 page)

Clenching his fists, he told Catherine of the paper, its image now burned in his memory, bearing Sinjie’s handwriting.

“Good God,” whispered Catherine. “Your own brother? You intimated that you were estranged, but—but, does he hate you, then?”

“I did not think that was the case, but it appears I was wrong. Now,” he said, sitting upright preparatory to throwing back his bedclothes. “If someone will hand me my breeches and shirt—”

Justin’s countenance had by now grown so forbidding, that Catherine refrained from questioning him further, nor did she dispute his efforts to leave his bed. Robbie, however, apparently had no such compunction.

“Hold up, laddie,” he said. “You’ll be going nowhere for a while.”

“Nonsense.” Justin turned a glowering countenance on him. “I’ve been wallowing here for days, and I feel fine.”

Thrusting his feel over the side of the bed, he attempted to stand, only to crumple into Robbie’s waiting arms. Catherine flew from her chair and ran to his side as well.

“Now, you see?” she scolded, her voice rising to cover her fright at his labored breathing. “You will tear Adam’s stitches.”

Justin sank back on the bed, appalled at the results of his small effort. “At least,” he said at last, “you must help me to a chair, so I can start regaining my strength. And”—he turned his scowl on Catherine—”I must start eating something besides that dam—wretched pap you’ve been feeding me. No wonder I’m weak as a cat.”

“But, last night, you had a broiled chicken wing—and this morning some nice toast and—
-

“Tchah!” responded Justin succinctly. “That stuff is barely enough to keep Lady Jane alive. Now, please send me up some real food. Please,” he added, his expression softening. “I cannot simply lie here while my fate hangs in the balance.”

Catherine felt herself weakening under that gray, supplicating gaze. “Actually,” she said grudgingly, “Adam said we might prepare something a little more sustaining tor you, starting today.”

“Good,” Justin replied promptly. “And I shall come down to join you for dinner.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“Sounds like just the ticket,” interjected Robbie smoothly. Placing a shoulder under Justin’s arm, he assisted him to a chair by the window. “I’ll volunteer to help tote him around. He can retire directly afterward if he begins to swoon in our laps.”

Catherine shrugged in resignation.

“Very well, I shall give orders to cook to set two extra places.” She turned to Robbie. “How long will you be staying with us, Mr. McPherson?”

“I must return to London tomorrow,” replied Robbie. “I’m sorry, old man,” he continued in response to Justin’s grunt of protest. “I gave them a tale at the Horse Guards of having to dash off to see my ailing Aunt Leastow, and I don’t want anyone sending me messages there. I’ll try to return here every few days or so, but—I think I’m being watched.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised,” remarked Justin. “Anyone who knows either of us well would assume I’d try to contact you.”

“Indeed. I’m pretty sure I managed to get out of London this time without being followed, but I don’t want to push my luck. Nor do I want to appear as though I’m trying to shake off anyone who might be trailing me.”

Justin nodded.

“I shall leave you two gentlemen to plan your strategy,” said Catherine, making her way from the room. “Mr. McPherson, when you are ready to be shown your room, please ring, and one of the servants will find me.”

“Please, Miss Meade, since we seem destined to be coconspirators, could you call me Robbie? We Scots, you know, cannot bear formality.”

Catherine smiled. “I was unaware of that particular national trait. Very well—Robbie, if you will call me Catherine, as well.”

“Humph!” interposed Justin in a tone of great affront. “I don’t recall your inviting me to use your first name.”

‘That is because you blithely usurped that prerogative without my permission—Lord Justin.” She bent an impudent smile on him and swept from the room, rather pleased with herself.

It was an hour or so later that a maid found her in the stillroom with a message that their guest was ready to leave Mr. Smith’s bedchamber. She hurried upstairs to find Robbie awaiting her in the corridor.

“I fear I wearied Justin,” he said worriedly. “He dozed off in the middle of a sentence, so I thought I’d better leave him.”

“Yes, he thinks he is ready to go out and conquer the world, but his wound was grievous, and he has a long way to go before he can return to normal activity. Or at least what he considers normal activity.” Catherine glanced up at him tentatively. “He is, of
course, fretting himself to flinders over—this business, which does not help his recovery.”

Robbie smiled, and Catherine thought she had never met a man with such an ability to convey a sense of security and reassurance. She led him to a room a few steps down the corridor. “I put you in the room closest to his. That way you won’t have so far to travel to your war councils.”

Robbie smiled briefly. “That’s as good a comparison as any, I suppose. Whoever has framed Justin for his own iniquity has covered his tracks well. We’re going to have the devil’s own time exposing him.”

“He is fortunate in his friends,” said Catherine carefully. They had by now reached the doorway to the chamber allotted to the guest, and she showed him inside.

“We will be going down to luncheon soon. I suppose you would prefer to take a tray in Justin’s room—” Robbie nodded. “But, I hope you will stop first with us so that I may introduce you to my cousin and my grandmother, both of whom are eager to meet you.”

“A pleasure, ma’am,” said Robbie, with another nod and a bow.

“In the meantime,” concluded Catherine, “please ring if you need anything.”

After a swift glance about the room to assure herself that everything necessary had been provided for their guest’s comfort, Catherine took herself off.

Robbie was no more seen until, as promised, he appeared in the sunny chamber designated long ago by Lady Jane for the informal luncheons she preferred. Catherine presented him to Mariah and Lady Jane, who pelted him with questions about Justin’s contretemps. Unfortunately, he could provide little information either on the actual perpetrator of the treason of which Justin was accused or the strategy he and Justin would implement to bring him to justice.

Excusing himself as soon as he had eaten, Robbie left the room to visit his friend.

“Well!” exclaimed Lady Jane querulously. “He seems like a very nice young man, but not very forthcoming.”

“I’m afraid he simply can’t be of much help, Grandmama. He and Lord Justin have a hard road ahead of them. Right now they seem at a standstill.” Catherine hoped that the chill her words brought her was not reflected in her voice. Dear God, what if they never found out the identity of the real traitor? Justin could not
stay in hiding forever, and as soon as he showed his nose outside Winter’s Keep, the authorities, gleeful that their prey had not escaped them in death, would pounce on him like wolves. Unless, of course, he fled the country. Somehow the thought of this solution brought her no comfort.

She reminded herself yet again that she did not care what happened to him. She would not like to see an innocent man punished for a crime he had not committed of course, but other than that, the fate of Lord Justin Belforte meant nothing to her. Then a thought struck her. An innocent man? Why was she so sure Justin was incapable of treason? Everything she knew of him pointed to instability of character, not to say pure wickedness. Despite his kindness to her family, he had deceived her cruelly. He had forced his attentions on her. Well, perhaps “forced” was not quite the proper term. He had kissed her, and she had turned to flame—and—and it had meant nothing to him. Lord, she almost wished she could believe him guilty of betraying his country. Then, at least, she could abandon him to his fate with a clear conscience.

She realized her reflections were becoming more convoluted and confused by the moment. She should just stop thinking about him. Yes. Just go on with her life as though he had never plunged into that shed to rescue her and her luckless dog.

She rose to leave the room, only to be halted as Lady Jane, who had been frowning thoughtfully, lifted her hand.

“You know, my dear,” she said, “I have been wondering where I heard the name Justin Belforte before, and I just remembered ... It was some years ago, in London. His brother, St. John, I think his name is, Earl of Haddington he was then, was betrothed to one of the Season’s beauties. When Justin came to town, he and Lady Susan created quite a scandal, practically living in each other’s pockets. Everyone assumed they were lovers, in fact.”

Catherine paled, but she simply inclined her head in courteous attention.

“The day came when the young earl came peltering down to London from the family estate, where he had been staying for some months with his father. It was said that he and his brother had a terrific row. It was also said that Lady Susan was
enceinte
. In fact, she admitted as much to her closest friends and said that Justin was the father. The betrothal between Haddington and the girl was severed, and Lady Susan left town precipitously, with the family putting it about that she was visiting a distant aunt.

“The next thing we heard was that she had miscarried. Sometime later she married an obscure baronet, who subsequently put her from him. She hied herself to the Continent after that, and every now and then someone would comment that she had been seen with Count This or the Baron That. I believe I heard recently that she died.”

“Dear God,” whispered Catherine. “How could he—?”

“We don’t know the truth of what happened,” said Lady Jane sharply. “It’s my belief the girl was no more than a slut gowned in silk and lace.”

“Perhaps,” said Catherine stonily, “but to have abandoned her in such a fashion when he had made her pregnant...” She shook her head, sickened.

“As I said, we don’t know what really happened. As I understand it, young Justin denied—quite vehemently—that he was responsible, and—”

“Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” retorted Catherine. “Is that not the way of the world? At least the way of charming men with a penchant for ruining young women?”

She jumped from her chair and hastened from the room, unable to continue the conversation.

She repaired to her study, where she sat for some moments, staring blankly before her. Dear Lord, had Justin truly betrayed his brother with the man’s own fiancée? It was hard to believe he could be guilty of such monstrous behavior, yet there must have been some grounds for such a story. On the other hand, the rumor mill of the
ton
ground exceeding fine, but was not known for the truth of its output. After all, no one knew better than she the wounds that could be inflicted by the careless cruelty of gossip.

Yet it seemed that the more she learned of Lord Justin Belforte, the more he stood convicted of being a scoundrel of the first water.

She shook herself. She had told Justin that she believed him entitled to a chance to prove his innocence of the charge of treason. She was prepared to grant him that chance. No more, no less. She had, she told herself once more, no real interest in his character, or his past, or his future.

With this thought clutched firmly to her bosom, she settled once more to her accounts, and it was here some two hours later that she was discovered by Robbie.

“Oh, no,” she said with a laugh in answer to his query. “You are not interrupting in the least. I am always glad to drop my book work like a hot chestnut at the least encouragement. Do sit down while I ring for tea. How is our patient?” she asked a moment
later as she settled into a comfortable chair opposite Robbie near the fireplace.

“Not in the best of spirits, I’m afraid. This confinement could not have come at a worse time for him, for he is fairly raging to be up and doing something about the calamity that has befallen him.”

“Tell me, Robbie.” Catherine grew serious. “Do you have any idea at all as to the identity of the real traitor? The person—or persons—who are trying to kill Justin?”

A shadow passed over Robbie’s face, and he lifted a hand as though to ward off something unpleasant.

“No.” He said shortly. After a moment he continued slowly. “We don’t know the motive behind the crime, you see. It may have been committed not by an evil man, but by one who found himself in a set of circumstances that—” He broke off abruptly and uttered a short, awkward laugh. “But I don’t know why I am speaking so. Everything is sheer speculation at this point. I must tell you, however, that I am pleased to hear that you believe in him.”

Catherine glanced at him, conscious of the odd thought that Robbie McPherson was keeping something from her—something that very much troubled his mind.

“Mr. Mr.—Robbie,” she said at last, hating herself for what she was about to ask. ‘Tell me something about Lord Justin Belforte. If I’m to give him the sanctuary of my home while he tries to wriggle out from under a charge of treason, I would like to know him better. He has not been very forthcoming.”

Robbie chuckled. “No, I suppose not. Justin is not given to talking about himself.”

“Frankly,” continued Catherine, “what I know of his lordship makes me doubt my wisdom in believing his story—which you must admit is not wholly probable.”

Robbie’s brows lifted. “How so?” he asked, rather frostily.

“Simply, that from what he’s told me, and—and from what I’ve heard from others—he’s not a very nice man. In fact, his activities to date seem to indicate that he’s a complete villain.”

“I see. He has told you of his work in military intelligence?”

“Yes, and that work seems to consist of every sort of trickery and deceit—the same sort of thing he practiced on me, in fact.”

“Catherine, the gathering of intelligence, by its very definition, requires a certain degree of deception. All of us who serve in this capacity have done some things that we’re not proud of.”

“That’s just the point. Justin seems as though he’s very proud of his chicanery.”

Catherine’s voice was stiff with accusation, but Robbie merely shrugged.