Last Night's Scandal (30 page)

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and traced the rippling muscles of his arms. It made sunlight of his hair. He was the sort of man dreams were made on, and myths, and the dreams and myths inspired great statues of bronze and gold where believers paid tribute, worshipped.

She’d gladly be his votary. She was romantic enough for that, and both too romantic and too cynical to do the sensible thing and marry him.

He grabbed one of the cast-off blankets and wrapped it about her. “You’re not thinking clearly,” he said. “You don’t have a choice. You might be pregnant. Even if you aren’t, there are rules, Olivia, and I know you don’t want to shame your family.”

“Then we have to find a way around the rules,” she said. “We should make each other wretched. If you’d gag your curst conscience for a moment, you’d see it. You’re too reasonable a man not to see it.”

T
he silence stretched out. The fire snapped. He heard a distant hissing. It must still be raining.

Rain. Such an ordinary thing. It happened all the time. And it had brought her here, and brought the two of them to this.

The horrible thing was that she was, for once, reasonable. The horrible thing was that, in this at least, Olivia saw as clearly as he did. He cared for her. He was infatuated with her.

Yet he couldn’t be sure that was enough, and the same conscience that urged him to marry her told him she’d be miserable if he did. When he’d let himself think of having her in his life, he’d always thought of what she’d do to his life, the havoc she’d wreak. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do to hers.

Now he looked, not into the simoom-riddled future he’d imagined, but into his heart. He couldn’t offer what she needed and deserved. She ought to be first in a man’s heart, and it had not occurred to him until now that perhaps he’d left no room in his.

“We won’t solve this tonight,” he said.

“Not likely,” she said.

“We’d better get you to your own bed,” he said.

“Yes. But we do need to conceal the evidence,” she said. “The easiest thing is to to build up the fire in the drawing room and throw my wet clothes in front of it. That way it will seem as though I did what I was trying to do: make a fire and dry off.” Leave it to her. He was used to thinking quickly, but concealing crimes wasn’t his specialty.

She rose, her blanket slipping to the floor.

The firelight traced her ripe curves and glittered in the coppery triangle between her legs.

He let his gaze travel up and down, up and down, while his heart ached. “Yes, you’re beautiful,” he said, his voice tight.

She smiled.

“But I can’t recommended wandering naked about a Scottish castle,” he said. “You’ll undo all my hard work and take a chill.” He was hunting about while he spoke. He found his shirt. He stood up and pulled it over her head and thrust her arms through the sleeves. The cuffs covered her hands. The shirt fell past her knees.

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She looked down at herself. “I’m not sure I can explain this as easily as I can traipsing about naked.”

“You’ll think of something.”

He took her hand and led her to the door. He remembered the way her hands had roved so freely over his body, setting his skin on fire.

What was he going to do with her?

He opened the door a crack.

The drawing room was silent and dark. He listened the way he would when entering a tomb where an ambush might await, his ears tuned to detect the sound of breathing.

No one else was breathing in the drawing room.

He stepped out into the room, taking her with him. The large room was as black as a tomb, but for the wedge of light coming from his doorway and, halfway down, the faintest light from the dying embers of the fire she’d tried to rebuild earlier.

“Will you be able to find your way without breaking your neck?” he said. “Maybe I’d better come with you.”

“I’ll be all right,” she whispered. “There’s very little furniture to bump into.” She slid her hand from his and started to move away.

He wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words he needed in all the turmoil. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him. He kissed her once, but fiercely. She melted into him.

He broke the kiss and pushed her away. “Go,” he said.

She went.

He waited, listening to the soft patter of her bare feet grow fainter as she traversed the long room. He waited until he heard the soft thud of the door closing behind her.

Then he returned to his room.

Nichols was gathering up her discarded clothing.

C
rossing an endless drawing room in the dead of night wasn’t the easiest trick in the best of circumstances. Olivia wasn’t at her best. Her throat ached and her eyes itched and she wanted to sit down and weep for a week.

She knew she’d said the right thing—the necessary thing. But she’d hurt him.

She didn’t mind hurting him physically—he could take it—and she didn’t mind tearing into him when he was being an infuriating blockhead. But all he’d done tonight was take care of her and make love to her . . . and turn her heart inside out.

And now it wasn’t the way it used to be. Whatever she’d felt before—oh, she’d always loved him, after a fashion—but this was different. And at the moment, painful.

Stop whimpering¸
she told herself.
One thing at a time
.

And the first thing was to get into her bed undetected. She could certainly come up with the cock-and-bull story necessary to explain her clothes lying in front of the drawing room fireplace.

Luckily, rash behavior like waiting in the rain for villains was well within the realm of typical Olivia behavior. No one would turn a hair. No one would wonder at her wearing men’s
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clothes, either. All she had to do was describe what happened, leaving out the part from the time Lisle came into the drawing room until she’d left from his room.

Leave out a lifetime, in other words.

She crept into her room.

It wasn’t dark.

A candle burned on a small table near the fire.

Bailey sat by the fire. She had mending in her lap but her gaze was on Olivia.

“I can explain,” Olivia said.

“Oh, miss, you always can,” said Bailey.

M
r. Nichols, in the act of artfully strewing about wet clothing in front of the drawing-room fireplace, froze as the small flame appeared. It drifted toward him. As it drew near, he saw Miss Bailey’s face illuminated by the candlelight. A thick shawl swathed what must be her night wear, because he detected surprisingly frivolous ruffles peeping out from a dressing gown, in the environs of her ankles. Her slippers appeared to be adorned with colored ribbons. He couldn’t quite discern the color in the dim light.

“Miss Bailey,” he whispered.

“Mr. Nichols,” she whispered.

“I hope no unearthly beings have caused you to be wakeful,” he said.

“Certainly not,” she said. “I’ve come about the clothes. We can’t leave them here. My miss and your master must have taken leave of their senses—I say that with all due regard for your master’s intelligence, but gentlemen sometimes lose their wits, and my miss has a rare knack for helping them into that condition.”

Nichols regarded the clothes he’d so carefully strewn about.

“Why put on a show when you and I are the only ones besides them aware of any unusual doings this evening?” said Miss Bailey. “Not to say that anything is unusual where my miss is concerned. I’m troubled, particularly, about items needing laundering.” She meant bloodstains.

Nichols couldn’t tell if she was blushing or only seemed to be. The light from the fire was rather red.

“Ahem,” he said softly. “That thought crossed my mind, but it seemed indelicate to mention it to his lordship.”

“I’ll deal with it,” said Miss Bailey, with the air of one long used to concealing crimes.

Nichols gathered up the damp clothing. “If you will light the way, I will carry it as far as the door,” he said.

She nodded.

She lit the way. He carried the clothing.

At the door, he carefully placed the clothing onto her free arm. He started to reach for the door handle, then paused. “Miss Bailey,” he murmured in her ear.

“No,” she said. “None of that.”

He sighed gently and opened the door.

She slipped into her mistress’s room.

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He closed the door and sighed again.

An instant later, the door opened a very little and she said softly, “Wait.” Nichols turned back hopefully.

A shirt was thrust through the space.

“You can take this back,” she said.

He took his lordship’s shirt.

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Chapter 16

M
eanwhile, Roy and Jock shivered in the section of the burnt church that hadn’t completely fallen in.

“Who the devil was it?” Jock said.

“What does it matter?” said Roy. “He was there, waiting for us.”

“They was bound to set watch, sooner or later. You heard what they said: The laird’s son was talking about getting dogs.”

“Dogs can be poisoned,” said Roy.

“Damn him, whoever he was,” Jock said. “I about pissed my breeches.” The white face staring out from the watchtower had scared Roy, too. If he’d stopped to think, he’d’ve known it was human. But who stops to think at times like those? They’d dropped the shovel and the pickaxe and run.

Jock hadn’t dropped the lantern, but he didn’t stop to close the shutter, and the thing—no, it was no thing, but a man—had chased them halfway down the road before Roy grabbed the lantern from his fool brother.

Now they were trapped in the damned church. No fire and no way to make one.

Plenty of time to think, though. At night, in the rain, the old castle on the rise was a big, black hulk against a sky that wasn’t much lighter. Roy stared up at it and thought.

He didn’t know how long it was before Jock said, “Rain’s letting up.” But it was time enough. “They’re watching for us on the outside,” Roy said, as they left the church. “So we’ll get us someone to watch on the inside.”

“No one’ll do that.”

No one liked them much. People passed the time of day, and then passed quickly enough on to someone else.

That suited Roy. He didn’t like anyone else much, either.

“They won’t do it willing, no,” said Roy. “But I can think of one we can
make
willing.”
Shortly after noon

Wednesday 26 October

“You understand what to do?” Olivia said.

Lady Cooper made a slight adjustment of her bonnet. “Of course.”

“Nothing could be simpler,” said Lady Withcote.

The three women stood near the entrance door of the great hall. They were waiting for the carriage that would take Ladies Cooper and Withcote to Edinburgh.

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Their mission was to seek out Frederick Dalmay’s nurse and servants and pump them for information.

“I hope you won’t find it too tedious,” Olivia said. “It might be a bit like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Oh, I think not,” said Lady Cooper. “We know the names. We ought to be able to find them easily enough.”

“And once we find them, I foresee no difficulty in getting them to talk,” said Lady Withcote.

“When all else fails, bribery will usually do the trick,” said Lady Cooper.

A footman came in from outside. “The carriage is here, your ladyships.”
L
isle entered minutes after the ladies departed.

“They said they were going to Edinburgh,” he said. “To look for clues.” Olivia hadn’t seen him since last night. It had taken her a long while to fall asleep. She’d come down very late to breakfast as a result. The ladies were there but he wasn’t. He was out with the workers, Herrick had told her.

She’d decided to behave as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It was easier than she’d expected. He was still Lisle, and what they’d done last night seemed by daylight to be the most natural thing in the world.

Because she loved him and had probably always loved him. The love had taken different forms over the years, but there it was.

And there he was . . . holding a shovel.

“Did you bring that indoors for some mysterious purpose, or did you forget to leave it in the courtyard?” she said.

He was frowning at her hand. He looked up. “What?”

“The shovel.”

“Ah, yes. This.” He gazed at it. “One of the workmen found it this morning when he arrived. One shovel. One pickaxe.”

“Evidence,” she said.

“I didn’t need evidence,” he said. “I believed you. But I hadn’t pictured it properly. You must have terrified them.” He grinned. “They dropped everything and ran.”

“Everything except the lantern.” If they’d dropped the lantern, she wouldn’t have been able to follow . . . and what had happened afterward wouldn’t have happened.

“Still, I didn’t mean to carry it in,” he said. “I saw the ladies leave, and I came in to ask you about it, and I forgot to leave the shovel outside.”

He looked about him. Herrick appeared. “Yes, your lordship. Joseph will take that for you.” A footman hurried forward and took the shovel and went out.

Herrick vanished.

“I’m not myself today,” Lisle said in a low voice. “Can’t think why.” The fire crackled in the grate. Servants padded to and fro, discreetly going about their business. A pale light traversed the deep window recesses, softening the gloom of the vast room, but not exactly illuminating the place. A candelabra stood on the table. By the clock it was broad day, but by Scottish weather, it was twilight.