Before The Scandal (21 page)

Her breath stopped. His soldier’s instincts screamed that she knew something, but he kept his mouth shut. He’d said he wouldn’t ask her to do anything but wait a few days before she told Richard what she knew. He wouldn’t break his word, however much he wanted to.

“He didn’t know about you,” she said after a moment.

Phineas lifted his head to look at her. “He didn’t know about me?” he repeated.

“When you first arrived he actually seemed a little angry with me, because I’d never mentioned a third Bromley sibling.”

Now, this was interesting. “It made him angry, eh? That’s good news, because I intend to make him even more angry.”

“I…may know a bit more,” she offered unexpectedly, “but I need to think about it first.”

He kept his expression even. “Fair enough.”

Alyse curled a fist and hit him in the ribs.

“Ow. What the devil was that for?”

“Why are you being so reasonable, Phin Bromley?”

“Because I’ve made my family dislike me, probably more than they did before I returned home. And I saw the way you looked at me in the music room. I want an ally. I…need…a friend.” He drew a breath. “And now that I’ve found you again, I’m reluctant to lose you.”

Alyse twisted, putting one hand on either side of his head to look down at him. “You can, on occasion, be very nice,” she whispered. “And you make me forget that I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone.”

And neither was he. She sank down, touching her lips feather-light to his. He wanted to devour her, but let her set the pace, and the tone, and he softly kissed her back. As her hand crept down to curl around his stiffening cock, he groaned. Yes, a fellow could get very comfortable with this. If he didn’t get himself killed first.

Goodness, she’d slept well, especially considering that after the offer Richard had made her last night she’d never thought to sleep again. He would have his proof—in three days, and after she’d had another chance to go over with Phin what he wanted her to say. It seemed she had chosen her side in this, however many questions she still had.

Her floor thudded. “Alyse!”

“Blast it all,” she muttered, flinging aside the covers and racing naked to find her shift and a morning gown to wear. The Bromleys would be staying for breakfast and then returning home as soon as William felt able, and more for her own sake than her aunt’s she wanted to be downstairs in time to dine with them. With Phin.

What a relief it had been to hear him say that he’d actually had a reason for distancing himself from his brother and sister. Because angry and disappointed as she’d been, neither had she felt ready to condemn him. After the night they’d spent, she had another reason to be pleased that he wasn’t what he publicly made himself out to be.

Humming, she shrugged into her pelisse and hurried out her door. Downstairs she knocked at her aunt’s door, then opened it at her summons. “Good morning, Aunt Ernesta, Harriet,” she said, walking over to kneel at her aunt’s feet and help her on with her shoes.

“What are you so happy about?”

“It’s a pretty morning,” she improvised, flattening out her smile a little.

“Pretty for you, perhaps. You had me up half the night with your thudding on the floor, right above my head.”

Oh, good heavens
. Hoping she wasn’t blushing, Alyse folded her expression into a sympathetic frown. “I beg your pardon, Aunt. I spilled some water, and needed to sop it up before it soaked into the floorboards.”

“You should be more cautious. I don’t want your clumsiness giving me a damp chill. Or keeping me awake for hours and hours again.”

“Of course I shall be. More cautious, I mean.”

She and the maid pulled Aunt Ernesta to her feet so she could make her way over to her dressing table for Harriet to do her hair and rouge her cheeks. Restless and wanting badly to head for the breakfast room, Alyse swung her arms and wandered over to the door and back. At the sound of heavy footsteps she pulled it open and looked out. Phin’s valet, the sergeant, walked past the doorway.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she said over her shoulder, and left the room, closing the door behind her. “You. Gordon, is it?”

The valet turned around. “Aye, miss,” he said in a heavy Scottish brogue. “What can I do fer ye?”

“Is Ph—is Colonel Bromley still to bed?” she asked.

“No, Miss. ’E’s down havin’ breakfast. I’m t’pack his bag.”

She took a step closer. “You served with him on the Peninsula, did you not?”

“Aye.” He puffed out his stout chest. “Still do. An’ proudly. The colonel’s a fine officer. The finest.”

She’d meant to ask Mr. Gordon about Phin’s character away from the mess in East Sussex, though he’d answered that fairly clearly already. His words, though, reminded her of something else entirely, and served to return her floating feet firmly to the floor. “Has he said when you’ll be returning to Spain?”

“Not yet. Fairly soon, I imagine. ’E gets restless without a battle t’fight.”

“No doubt.” Alyse cleared her throat, fighting against the sudden urge to cry. “I won’t keep you from your duties, then,” she said, and turned around again.

Phin had said that she wasn’t alone. He’d probably meant to say that she had company—his—for that evening. Of course he would return to his regiment. He would repair matters here, which would undoubtedly entail shredding his relationship with his siblings beyond repair, and then he would leave again to fight his battles after he’d ensured that he could never return.

She would have her ten thousand pounds, more than enough to buy the silence of a discreet lover or two, if she should choose to pursue that path, but somehow last night when she’d imagined her future, Phin had been a part of it.
Stupid, stupid girl
, she muttered at herself, and returned to her aunt’s bedchamber.

“Don’t put much on your plate,” her aunt instructed as they went downstairs. “I may not be able to stand that man’s company, and it will appear rude if you leave with a full plate of food.”

Alyse wanted to ask whether Aunt Ernesta would be eating lightly as well, but she had enough silver to help Saunders polish later without giving herself more trouble. So instead she nodded. “I shall sit between you, if you wish it.”

“I do wish it. That man deserves a good dressing-down. He…Oh.”

Aunt Ernesta’s hesitation was understandable. As they walked into the breakfast room, Phin stood at the sideboard piling rolls and strips of ham onto his plate. His appetite hadn’t been what had stopped her aunt in her tracks, however.

It was the uniform. He’d said he meant to wear it again, but she’d forgotten. There he stood, though, in his crimson coat with its blue facing, adorned with his rank and insignia and several important-looking medals, his breeches white and snug across the muscles of his thighs, his black Hessian boots polished to such a shine that they reflected her distorted face in them.
Oh, my
.

He nodded to them. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She waited, scarcely noting that Beth and Richard were already at the table. Then Phin’s gaze met hers, warm and welcoming. In a heartbeat he looked away again, taking a seat halfway down the table. But in that second, he belonged to her, and she to him.

“What are your plans for today?” her cousin asked, his attention on Beth. Was his interest a ploy? Did he mean to use the seventeen-year-old to gain ownership of Quence Park? If so, he was more of a monster than Phin could pretend to be even on his darkest day. But it was all conjecture, and she had no idea how Phineas would ever find proof—and certainly not in the three days he’d asked for.

“I’ll return home with William,” Beth answered, “and then Lady Claudia and Janet Harving and I are going riding after luncheon.”

“I hope you ladies will have an escort. There is a highwayman roaming the countryside.”

“I thought he was dead,” Phin commented.

Beth’s smile was directed at Richard rather than her brother. “Are you volunteering, Richard?”

“I certainly am.”

“Good. Then come by Quence at two o’clock.”

“I shall be there promptly.”

“You might have asked me, you know,” Phin put in, around a mouthful of ham.

“No, thank you.” His sister’s smile froze in place, her voice sharpening.

William, his servant behind him, wheeled into the breakfast room. “Good morning, all,” he said, his gaze skipping over Phin.

Oh, this was awful. If Phin was wrong about Richard and Lord Charles, wrong about the misfortunes that had befallen Quence, he would never be able to make amends to his family. And if he was correct, the prospects were even more worrisome. She had to wonder how far he would go to protect his family from a perceived threat. He was a soldier, and saw things in black and white. Life and death.

“You look very official, Colonel,” Richard offered.

Phin nodded. “I’m going riding myself, this morning,” he said. “I didn’t want anyone mistaking me for that damned Frenchman and taking a shot at me.”

All the blood left Alyse’s face, and she sat down hard in her chair. If that had been any more direct, it would have involved slapping gloves and challenges to duels. And still Phin managed to look as though he’d just delivered a hilarious jest.

“A red coat and a yellow horse,” she commented, forcing a chuckle. “You will definitely be noticeable.”

“My intention precisely.” He glanced at her plate, lying beside his. “No appetite this morning?”

She couldn’t very well confess that she’d been forbidden to gather a full breakfast. “There were no strawberries left,” she said instead.

“Ah. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go find something with which to occupy myself. My man brought my horse, so I bid you farewell.
Adieu
.” With a last bite of his breakfast, he pushed away from the table and strolled out of the room.

“I apologize for my brother’s behavior,” William said to no one in particular, nodding his thanks as his valet brought him tea and two pieces of toasted bread. “He’s having difficulty adjusting to civilian life, I think.”

“That’s understandable,” Richard commented promptly. “He’s served his country for the past ten years. There’s no need to apologize.”

Abruptly Alyse felt alone again, and trapped. They all disliked him and dismissed him—which was as he planned, but she didn’t have the luxury of ignorance. Then she looked down at her plate. The half dozen strawberries that had been on Phin’s plate were now on hers. The man had the skill of a master illusionist. And he’d been thinking of her, even with everything else he had to worry over.

Smiling, she bit into one of the sweet fruits. As she looked up again, William was gazing from her plate to her face. And she didn’t think it was because he was hungry for strawberries. What
she
was hungry for was the man who’d given them to her.

“The ruins.” He nodded in the direction of the shallow slope, down to the bottom of the meadow.

“Way down there?”

“Yes, way down there. I want to take a look at the perimeter.”

“Ah. I don’t think th’ Romans’re up fer a siege, then, if that’s what’s worryin’ ye.”

“You are an amusing fellow. Just keep your eyes open, Sergeant.”

“Aye, Colonel.”

He wanted to do a comparison of the terrain versus the notations on the two-part map, but not at the crest of the hill where anyone with a spyglass could see precisely what he was up to. It would have to wait until he descended into the meadow to the ruins themselves. The problem being, he didn’t want to get any closer.

It was ridiculous. He’d faced down battalions of French soldiers, charging cavalry, lines of cannon. And none of them sent sick chills down his spine the way those ruins did.

Better to get the damned business over with. Phineas blew out his breath, squared his shoulders, and nudged Saffron in the ribs. They descended into the center of the meadow at a walk, Gordon and Gallant on their heels.

“This was a big place,” the sergeant noted, leaning out to run his hand over one of the remaining standing stone pillars. “’N it’s warm down here. Are th’ hot springs still flowin’?”

“Yes.” Phineas shook himself. “Watch the footing. It can get swampy there where the lilies are growing.”

“Hm. Not too bad now. Probably durin’ the winter. Did ye go swimmin’ here as a lad?”

“Yes.”

“The waters were probably good fer yer brother the viscount, weren’t they? If ye could get ’im down here.”

“William wasn’t crippled then. He could climb down on his own.”

Phineas dismounted, leaving Saffron standing while he walked over to a small tumbled wall away from the main part of the bath ruins. It had happened here. He supposed it would have been devastatingly poetical if he could imagine he still saw traces of the blood—but he remembered quite distinctly that there hadn’t been any blood. None at all. Just William, lying there at a chilling angle, his face white and his mouth open as if he were screaming, though no sound emerged.

“Colonel? Colonel!”

He shook himself. “What?” he snapped, looking over at Gordon.

“Are ye well?”

“Yes. I’m fine. It’s just that I nearly killed my brother right on this spot, and I haven’t been here since that day.” He felt the sergeant staring at him, but continued anyway. “I hate this place, you know?” he said half to himself, slowly circling the wall. “We used to play here all the time, and now I can’t stand to be in sight of it.”

“Then why’re we here?”

“Because it’s important.” Still feeling almost…dazed, as though he’d walked into his own dream—or his own nightmare, more like—Phineas pulled the two maps from his pocket. Setting Richard’s on the bottom, he lay Smythe’s across the top.

It was a better match than the one at the surveyor’s office, and more accurate. Or more recent, at least. The stream had moved its banks in the past few years, but its most recent track was carefully noted.

“You’ve done terrain mapping for me before, Gordon,” he said. “Come take a look at this and tell me what you see.”

The sergeant dismounted to join him at the wall. Phin handed him the maps, and he looked at them for a long moment. “This is definitely here,” Gordon said slowly, turning with the maps in his hands. “But it’s not.”

“Why not?” Phineas had his own theory, but with so many people telling him he was creating havoc to suit himself, he wanted a second opinion.

“Th’ ruins is gone,” the sergeant said, scowling. “Part of ’em is. An’ there’s a new buildin’ in their place. A grand one. An’ another two ’r three over here, on top o’ the hill. An’ a road joinin’ ’em all, heavy like th’ one the engineers had t’put in for supplies last year at Salamanca.” He looked up at the meadow, then down again. “Why would someone want t’build a house in the middle of a marshy hot springs?”

“It’s not a house.”

“Then wh—”

“It’s a bath. And I would guess that those other buildings are inns, up where the ground is firm all year round and they’ll have a view.”

“What the devil is this about, Colonel?”

Phineas sighed, pushing back his growing frustration and anger. He knew how to harness those emotions, how to save them, nurture them, until they could be used—with withering results. “In my opinion,” he returned, taking the maps back and folding them together, “this is the beginnings of the next city of Bath.”

“Bath is past its prime, I thought.”

“It is.” Phineas faced south. Down in the meadow bottom all he could see was the rise of the slope, but at the top would be fields and trees and rivers, and beyond them, the sea. And Brighton. “Imagine a place to take the waters, located between London and Brighton. Not a place to settle in and play whist and grow old and senile, but to holiday for a few days or a sennight and then move on.”

“Holy Jasus,” Gordon breathed.

Here, unlike Bath, there would be a destination at both ends. Brighton was becoming hugely popular, thanks mostly to Prinny’s obsession with building himself a palace there. And it also offered a launching place to the Americas, or to Africa or beyond, and back again.

“These plans,” the sergeant said, gesturing at the map. “Yer brother th’ viscount ain’t a part of ’em.”

“He doesn’t know anything about them.”

“This is Donnelly’s doing?”

“It is beginning to seem so.” Phineas pocketed the maps and strode back to collect Saffron.

“Why wouldn’t he tell yer brother, and they could become partners?”

“Because the money’s in the land.”

The scope of what he’d begun to piece together stunned him. The Frenchman had snatched a few watches and snuffboxes, and it was a robbery. This, though, was a plan that, once begun, would take years to realize. No wonder Donnelly and Smythe had been content with a dog attack here and a pasture flood and cottage fire there. They could afford to be patient; once they secured the land there were still years of planning and building ahead of them.

“So d’we kill ’im?”

“Not yet. I can’t kill a viscount, but I can kill a thief. Unfortunately, I have to prove him one, first.” Of course, there was a second option; Phin Bromley might not be able to settle this with a pistol, but he knew someone who could. The Frenchman.

Satisfying as that might be, however, the part of him that wanted the respect of his family knew he needed to have proof. All he had at the moment was some talk about hot springs, some questionable mishaps, and a map. Hardly enough to drive Donnelly to ground and force him to confess.

They cantered up the slope and back toward Quence House. And then another thought occurred to him. Destroying Donnelly would save Quence, but he very much doubted that a disgraced and hopefully jailed viscount would be willing to settle ten thousand quid on his cousin, whatever agreement they might have made. Alyse would be left with nothing, again, or at best a position as companion to a woman with a jailed, disgraced son.

“Damnation,” he muttered.

“What’s got ye sour now?”

“A choice between two boxes. One holds a poisonous snake.”

“An’ t’other?”

“My damned conscience.” It was more than that, but he didn’t know how to put it into words. Everything was a damned muddle. The only thing he knew clearly was that he needed some help. Luckily he had some waiting close by.