Love's Guardian (27 page)

“I understand congratulations are in order.”
“How in the hell did you know that?” He sat forward, giving his head a slight shake, which increased the throbbing behind his eyes. His cousin’s talents had come in handy on several occasions, but they were still a mystery to him.

“You underestimate the value of servant’s gossip.” Bradford, dressed only in his breeches and a shirt, crossed the room and took the chair opposite him. “Cook heard the news at the market this morning. My steward informed me.

“As with all gossip, there are only elements of truth. But based on your apparent distraction, I take it you have asked the Countess of Lochsdale to be your bride.”

“Yes.”

“I was under the impression Lady Catrina would be your choice.”

“She was, but Lady Lochsdale needs the protection of marriage.”

Bradford raised an eyebrow. “And you have to be the one to give it to her?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Declan stood, walked over to the window, and peered out on the meticulous gardens that were Lady Bradford’s passion. “As long as I get my heir, it doesn’t really matter whom I marry.”

“Well, you’re correct about one thing. The Countess of Lochsdale does need protection.”

The tone of Bradford’s voice made Declan uneasy. He turned to see a slight frown on his cousin’s face. “What have you found out?”

“If you’ll come to my study, I have something to show you.” Bradford left without a backward glance.

He followed his cousin through the labyrinth of elegantly appointed hallways. Thank God Castleton was laid out in a simpler design than the twisting passageways of Bradford Hall. The place was a nuisance, but it suited his cousin.

As they crossed the threshold of the study, he was struck anew by the clutter. He’d forgotten Bradford’s unique method of organization. No servants were allowed to clean this holy sanctum. Books and papers lay scattered in piles atop of every flat surface.

The irony was, his cousin never lost anything.

As if confirming his thoughts, Bradford went to a table in front of the fireplace. It sat next to the only chair in the room that was devoid of papers. After glancing through several in the stack, he handed a slightly grimy sheet to Declan. “I received this yesterday afternoon.”

He took the paper and perused its contents. “A registry for The Swan dated February, 1775?”

“Look toward the bottom.”

Two names were very familiar. “Luther Addington and his mother. Staying at The Swan? Not a typical haunt of the Ton, I admit, but nothing nefarious.”

Bradford shook his head. “Because it was so close to the time you and Alex’s father were attacked, I did some checking. Seems the arrogant boy didn’t make a favorable impression with the landlord. The man was more than willing to talk. On two separate occasions, Lord Addington and his mother met with a man known in those parts as ‘Spider.’ Later, Spider bragged about coming into extra cash. Said he did a little work for them.”

“Wasn’t one of the men who kidnapped Lady Lochsdale named Spider?”

“Indeed.”

“A rather large coincidence, don’t you think?” He needed proof. “Could you get me a description? I’ll lay odds this ‘Spider’ was one of the men on the docks that day. The bastards hadn’t been after the money at all.” He gave a low whistle. “No wonder they let me walk away.”

He began to pace the small distance between a cluttered table and his cousin’s mounded desk. Tapping the list slowly on his other hand, he considered the likelihood of “Spider” being a killer and Alex’s kidnapper. If they
were
one and the same, then she was in more danger than he’d thought. Unease clenched his spine. He handed the list back to his cousin, fighting the impulse to rush home.

Bradford set it back on its pile, then crossed to his desk. “I’m still working on ‘Spider’s’ identity. He hasn’t been seen in the area for a couple of years.”

“I’d appreciate anything you can get.”

Bradford studied at his cousin, uncharacteristic concern in his cool gray eyes. “Lord Worthington, do you think this is a good time to announce your betrothal? I believe Addington has killed at least once to get Lady Lochsdale’s estates. What’s to keep him from adding to his list?”

“I’ll have to take the chance. Besides, this might force him to do something rash. Do you still have someone watching him?”

“Constantly.”

“Might you also watch my future bride? If I’m otherwise occupied, I want to be sure she’s safe.”

His cousin raised an eyebrow. “As you wish.”

Before last night, Declan would have balked at the idea of someone else protecting her. But how could you protect someone you were avoiding? “Thank you.”

Bradford nodded. “I’ll send you any information I receive, but be careful. I can assure you, nothing this man does will be in the open.”

Declan crossed to the threshold and tugged on his doeskin gloves. “Addington cloaks his machinations with a fair façade, but the fox isn’t able to hide from the hunter forever.”

Taking his leave of Bradford, he waited in the front hall while his carriage was brought around. He half hoped Alex wasn’t in residence when he returned.

It was bad enough he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her most of the morning. How was his treacherous body going to react to being in the same room?

He didn’t have an answer, but he was about to find out.

Alex felt a prickle of awareness. Someone was behind her. Lady Bradford and Anna didn’t seem to notice. They were both engrossed in the portrait of Declan’s mother above the mantel.

She took a deep, steadying breath, then turned around. Declan stood in the doorway to the parlor.

He was staring at the portrait, one expression after another crossing his face. What was he feeling? Longing, pain, hatred? By the time his gaze met hers, he was in control, his demeanor one of polite distance.

He kept looking at her, yet spoke to his aunt, disapproval in his voice. “I see you wasted no time bringing the portrait down.”

Lady Bradford’s tentative reply came over Alex’s shoulder. “I assumed you meant right away. When we spoke this morning, I thought...never mind what I thought. Would you like me to have it returned to the attic?”

“No.”

Declan kept watching her, his face unreadable. The silence echoing in the room intensified the heaviness in her heart. The old Declan was back, more of a stranger than before. Even Anna didn’t try to fill the stillness with her chatter.

“We’ll leave you alone.” Lady Bradford sounded as if she didn’t want to go. “Lady Anna, come help me decide on the invitations for the ball. We are still having an engagement ball, are we not?” It was the closest thing to a challenge she had ever heard from Declan’s aunt.

“Of course,” he replied.

He still intended to marry her. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she felt the air leave her body.

Lady Bradford swept by them, with Anna trailing behind, casting worried glances over her shoulder. Declan’s aunt gave Alex a nod of encouragement, before she closed the double doors with a soft click. They were alone, but she didn’t have the slightest idea what she should say.

When she glanced back, she discovered Declan was still watching her, the small muscle near his mouth jumping erratically. She wanted to throw herself in his arms and end this awkwardness. Instead, she turned to look at the portrait. “She was beautiful.”

“My father seemed to think so. Perhaps if she’d been less comely, things would have been different.”

The bitterness in his reply left her feeling cold. “It’s not just appearance that causes one person to love another.”

“I suppose not.” Declan crossed to the brandy decanter that sat on a table near the fireplace.

Instead of coming within inches of her, he chose to go around the outside of the room, placing a marble-topped table between them. He poured a brandy and took a small sip, then swirled the contents of the glass, watching in fascination as the amber liquid climbed the smooth sides.

“I apologize for last night,” Declan said. “It should never have happened.”

“I’m glad it did.”

Did he regret asking her to marry him, or did he feel he’d taken advantage of her? Either way, she didn’t want him to be sorry.

She swallowed with difficulty and glanced down. She’d been twisting her bracelet. Her chaffed skin appeared raw from the repetitive motion. Funny, she didn’t feel any pain. At least, not in her wrist. She forced her hands to her sides and looked up into his eyes.

For just an instant, she fancied she saw passion and longing swirling in their dark-edged blue depths. Then, like the end of a piece of music, it was gone. The intensity still thrummed through her soul.

He placed his glass on the table. “Be that as it may, we have to move on from here. We’ll announce our betrothal a week from this Saturday. Allowing time for the banns to be posted, we can be married a fortnight after that.”

“So quickly?”

“I thought you needed to marry posthaste.”

“I do, but what about the preparations?”

“They won’t be a concern.” Declan gave her a small smile. “After all, you already have your wedding gown.”

Her wedding gown, the one he’d designed for her. Now she was glad he’d forced her to get it.

He started to move around the table toward her, then stopped. “Alex, I don’t want you to leave the house in the next few weeks without my aunt or myself at your side.”

“Why?”

“Never mind why. I’m asking you to obey me in this.”

Had he learned something new? The threat her cousin posed was the same as before. What was going on? “Lord Worthington, I’m not going to be confined to the house without good reason.”

“Declan.”

“What?”

“I want you to use my Christian name when we’re alone.”

“All right,
Declan
, I’ll not be a prisoner. Until you can give me a good reason why I need lock myself away, I won’t do it.”

“Yes. You will.”

“No. I won’t.”

Declan raked the hair off his forehead and strode toward her, then stopped several inches away. She was forced to look at his broad chest. He wasn’t wearing his waistcoat, as was his wont this early in the day.

She could see the well-defined muscles still faintly visible through the fine lawn shirt. Her gaze crept upward to the thick column of his neck, swathed in its intricate cravat. By the time she reached his face, her breathing was shallow and fast. Fighting the urge to reach up and loosen the ribbon binding his shiny black hair, she tried to collect her thoughts.

“Yes, you will,” Declan said. The words were disjointed, as if he were struggling to get them out. With each syllable he uttered, his lips drew closer to hers, until the word “will” vibrated between their mouths.

He crushed her to him, pressing the breath from her body. His kiss made promises. Promises of long conversations, nights of passion and love.

Suddenly, he jerked away, his eyes filled with panic. The sound of his labored breathing filled the air. Sweat sheened his brow.

She didn’t know what she could do to help him. He was trapped in a well of his own making. His terror at loving a palpable thing.

“Declan, do you...”

“No, Alex, I can’t. I just can’t.” He turned and bolted from the room.

“I can’t” lingered on the still air, but she hugged her arms to her body and closed her eyes. Declan loved her. She was sure of that now.