Lord Perfect (32 page)

"That can't be Great-Grandpapa Edmund," she
said. "They burnt all his portraits, I was told."

When she looked back, the young man was dragging his
hand through his hair. "I say," he said.

"I am Bathsheba Wingate," she said.

None of the ancestors about her fell out of their
frames, and the ceiling did not crash to the floor, which did not
open up to admit Beelzebub, who did not try to drag Mr. DeLucey back
down into the inferno with him.

But Peter DeLucey
looked
as though all these things had happened.

Then, "I say," he managed to get out.

She silenced him with a wave of her hand. "Alas, we
have no time for family reminiscences," she said. "My
wicked daughter has run away with Lord Atherton's heir and sole
offspring. She has entangled him in a harebrained scheme to unearth
Edmund DeLucey's treasure, which she believes is buried at the base
of Throgmorton's mausoleum."

"T-treasure," he said. "Mauso—"

"I have been chasing them since Friday afternoon,"
she cut in impatiently, "but the brats have eluded me.
Throgmorton is a large property. There is no predicting how or where
they will get in. Once they get in, they will have numerous places to
hide."

"I say," he said. "I can hardly take it
in. Your daughter has eloped with Atherton's son?"

"He is thirteen," she said
impatiently. "Olivia is twelve. It is not an elopement. They are
children
.
Do attend. I have a plan for catching them, but I must have your
help."

At that moment, she heard from without the clatter of
hooves and carriage wheels.

Bathsheba caught her breath. It could not be Rathbourne.
He would not find her for hours, if ever. She had made sure of
that—and that he'd hate her if and when he did find her.

Peter DeLucey hurried to the door and listened. "Oh,
now we're for it," he said. "The family's back from
church."

One hour later

When he got his hands on her, he would strangle her,
Benedict told himself.

The aftereffects of the previous night's debauch didn't
improve his temper. His head was an anvil, and Hephaestus, forger of
Zeus's thunderbolts, was beating on it with his giant hammer.

Seething, he made his way to the servants' entrance.

He could have gone to the front door and announced who
he was… if he wanted to be bodily ejected from Throgmorton,
and hear a lot of country louts laughing when he landed on his arse
outside the entrance gate.

He had had to borrow both money and clothes from Thomas.
The clothes didn't fit. Thomas was shorter than he and wider.
Furthermore, thanks to the limited funds, Benedict had endured a
long, hard ride on a bad horse, which did nothing to soothe his
aching head.

To finish matters off nicely, he'd had to leave Thomas
behind at the inn as surety for the bill that wicked girl might at
least have paid.

Pure good fortune had got Benedict through the entrance
gate in the first place. Not knowing what tale she'd told or who
she'd claimed to be, he'd acted like a dolt of a country bumpkin and
asked whether his mistress had come this way. Luckily for him, no
other female callers must have arrived this day, for no one had asked
who his mistress was.

Benedict was going to kill her.

But first he had to get at her.

He played the same thickheaded country lout at the
servants' entrance and had no trouble getting in there, either. He
found the place abuzz.

"You've come for Mrs. Wingate, I see," said
the housekeeper. "They said she was in a state when she come. I
reckon she wouldn't wait for you. She wouldn't wait for Mr. Keble,
that's certain. He backed right down, I was told. Joseph said he
never seen anything like it. He said she would've walked straight
through Mr. Keble if he tried to stop her. And Mr. Peter won't take
notice of anything but her face and figure, will he?"

"Both which is uncommon fine," said a footman
coming in with a tray of untouched sandwiches. "That being why
he can't take his eyes off her and sits there like a fish with his
mouth opening and closing, like he never seen one of her kind before.
Which I expect he never did, what with being wrapped in cotton wool
all his life and gone away to school with a lot of spotty boys as
horny as him."

Rathbourne regarded him stonily. Such talk would not
have been tolerated in any servants' hall belonging to any member of
the Carsington family.

"Did you hear anything more, Joseph?" everyone
asked at once.

"Oh, she was telling 'em some
Banbury tale like the females dote on, all about stolen children and
pirate treasure and everyone in dire peril," said Joseph. "As
to the rest of 'em, who could tell what they was saying, when the
females start clucking and squawking like a lot of tetchy hens the
instant
she
stops?" he said. "But Lord Mandeville just come, and he's
looking like murder," he added with malicious glee. "I bet
James sixpence the old fire-breather throws the strumpet out on that
pretty rump of hers."

Benedict stood up from his chair and launched himself at
Joseph.

"OUT!" LORD MANDEVILLE shouted. "Not
another word. How dare you pollute this house—"

"Mandeville, were you not attending to the sermon
this day?" said his wife. "We were counseled patience and
forgiveness, as I recollect—"

"Forgive any of her lot, and they will cozen us out
of our last farthing. When we are dead, they will steal the winding
cloths," the old man said. "It is a trick, and you are a
lot of confiding morons to believe it. Atherton's son, my foot."

"I agree the tale seems dubious, Father," Lord
Northwick said in a bored voice. He was an elegant man in his forties
whose keenly assessing blue eyes belied his jaded pose. "Nonetheless,
one is obliged to give the lady a hearing."

"
Lady
?"
His father sneered. "She plays a part, the way they all of them
do. You're credulous fools, the lot of you." He swept a glare
over his wife, daughter-in-law, and grandson. "Everyone knows
the Athertons are in Scotland."

Bathsheba held on to her temper. "Lord and Lady
Atherton are in Scotland," she said. "Their son stayed in
London with his uncle, Lord Rathbourne. As I have explained—"

"Oh, I don't doubt you've
explained
to a nicety," Mandeville said. "And a precious tangle of
black falsehoods it is. Not that any of this lot has wit enough to
see it. The women of my household let their soft hearts get the
better of their brains—such as they are—and my fool son
and grandson notice nothing but your allurements."

"Really, Father—"

"But you won't cozen me, Jezebel," Mandeville
went on, ignoring the sophisticated Northwick as one might a
prattling child. "I've had doings with your kind before and
learnt my lesson. I know your tricks and arts. It'll be a bitter cold
day in hell before I—"

A loud crash in the hall made everyone jump.

"What the devil is that noise?" said
Mandeville. "Keble!"

Keble hurried in, face flushed. "I beg your pardon,
my lord, for the disturbance. We have the matter in hand."

Another crash, this time the sound of shattering
crockery.

Mandeville started toward the door at the same moment a
liveried footman sailed over the threshold. He landed at the earl's
feet.

Bathsheba shut her eyes. No, it was not possible.

She opened them.

A tall, dark figure appeared in the doorway.

He wore clothing obviously belonging to someone else.
The coat was too short, the trousers too wide.

"Who the devil is that?" Mandeville shouted.

Rathbourne drew himself up. "I am—"

"My brother," Bathsheba said. "My mad
brother Derek-He scowled at her. "I am not—"

"You naughty boy," she said. "Why did you
not wait for me at the inn as I told you to do? Did I not promise to
return as soon as I could?"

"No, you did not," said Rathbourne. His dark
eyes glittered. "You took my clothes. You took my money. You
went away without a word."

"You are confused," she said. She looked at
the ladies and twirled her index finger near her temple. Returning to
Rathbourne she went on, patiently, "I explained several times
why you must not come with me."

The footman lying on the floor let out a weak moan.

Bathsheba threw Rathbourne a reproachful look. "That
is one reason," she said.

"He called you a strumpet," Rathbourne said,
sulky as a child.

"You lost your temper," she said. "What
have I told you about losing your temper?"

A throbbing pause. The glitter in his eyes was
diabolical.

"I must count to twenty," he said.

"You see," she said softly to the others. "He
is like a child."

"He's a deuced big child," said Lord
Northwick.

"He belongs in an asylum!" Lord Mandeville
shouted, purple with rage. "Out! Out of my house, the pair of
you, or I'll have you taken up and locked up. Set foot on my property
again and I'll set the dogs on you."

Rathbourne looked at him.

Mandeville took a step back, his color draining away.

"Derek," Bathsheba said.

Rathbourne looked at her. She marched toward him, chin
up, spine straight. "Lord Mandeville is overset," she said.
"We had better leave before he does himself an injury."

She brushed past him through the doorway and continued
on down the long hallway. After a moment, she heard angry footsteps
behind her.

* * *

BATHSHEBA AND BENEDICT rode in furious silence until
they passed the entrance gates.

Then, "You ruined everything!" she burst out.

"Everything was ruined long before I arrived,"
Benedict said, gritting his teeth against the headache, which recent
events had not ameliorated. "I cannot believe you went to
Throgmorton—as yourself—and expected anything from your
relatives but insults and eviction."

"I was doing well enough until the irascible earl
came home," she said. "The ladies were too curious about me
to be rude, and the gentlemen—"

"Could not stare at your breasts and think at the
same time," he said.

"I could have coaxed them all round—including
the wretched old man—if you had not brawled with the footman,"
she said. "If you had to fight, could you not at least keep it
belowstairs?"

"He ran away from me, the coward," Benedict
said. "I was not in a forgiving state of mind. I woke up with
Satan's own headache to find that someone had stolen my money and
clothes, you see."

He took a long, steadying breath. "It is clear what
happened. Getting me drunk and ravishing me was part of your cunning
plan. You thought I would be too sick and debilitated after the
excesses of last night to pursue you. You thought I'd never guess
where you'd gone. You think I'm an idiot, obviously."

"I did only the
getting-you-drunk part on purpose," she said. "The trouble
is, I drank a good deal more than I intended, because you have a
curst strong head. I ravished you because I was as drunk as a sailor.
But yes, I do believe you are acting like an idiot. You have let lust
cloud your thinking. You very nearly told the DeLuceys who you were,
did you not? If I had not interrupted, you would have given them one
of your Who-are
-you-
you-insignificant-insect
looks and said, 'I am Rathbourne.'"

She mimicked him so well that he had the devil's own
time keeping the scowl on his face.

"You told them who
you
were," he said. "You have put yourself at risk. If it is
found out that I am not your mad brother Derek, you will be ruined."

He had nearly choked, struggling not to go off into
whoops, when he found himself turned into her lunatic sibling.

"I am already ruined," she said. "I was
ruined from the day I was bom."

"Then what of Olivia?" he said. "What of
her future?"

"I cannot make a future for her here," she
said. "I was deluded to think so. If I wish her to have a fair
chance at a proper life, I must take her abroad, where the name
Bathsheba Wingate means nothing to anybody."

"I cannot believe you are seriously considering
returning her to the same ramshackle existence you have deplored,
time and again!" he shouted. And winced, because the shouting
reverberated painfully in his skull.

"That is because I am facing facts and you are
not," she said. "You are pretending that this is your life.
But it is only a few days out of your life. Perhaps it does make an
amusing change. Yet all you have done is run away, for a time, as you
used to do long ago. The trouble is, you are no longer a little boy,
and unlike in the past, you face grave consequences when you return.
And you must return, Rath-bourne. I can shake the dust of England
from my feet. You cannot."