Mandy (14 page)

“How do you come by this information?” the duke asked watching Owen’s face.

“From one of my servants,” he smiled ruefully. “‘Tis the only way to get any information. They have quite a grapevine.” He shrugged, “At any rate, I immediately sent my man to York to see if he could find any more information about her whereabouts, but although he confirmed that she had been there, she had already left.”

Was Owen trying to send them off in another direction? What was his game, the duke wondered. He was surprised when the viscount interjected at this point, “‘Tis all a hum. The poor girl is probably dead…by the same hand that killed Celia.”

“Upon my soul!” Sir Owen frowned as he rounded on the viscount. “What makes you think so?”

“Stands to reason, don’t it? Look here; this was carefully put in place, step by step to make Ned look guilty. First Ned is delayed from meeting Celia because Elly took him a note which he no longer has…but was no doubt was written by the real murderer. Then, a page of the diary is found. Then Elly and the diary go missing.” The viscount shook his head impatiently, “Dash it to hell! Planned, the entire thing, planned to an inch,” the viscount said with some disgust. “The real murderer saw she was his weak link, this Elly Bonner and must have immediately set out to kill her.”

“Agreed that he wanted her dead, but I believe she realized this and took off. I don’t think he had an opportunity and you are quite correct, Skip, she is his weak link. No doubt he is looking for her as well. She is running for her life which will make it very difficult to find her,” said the duke quietly.

“I believe you are right,” Sir Owen said and turned to the viscount, “One more thing, Skip…” her paused.

“One more thing?” the viscount encouraged him archly.

“Indeed, it has come to my attention…well, how do I put this? No way but openly, I suppose,” he said answering himself and hurriedly saying, “It has come to my attention that you and Celia were intimately acquainted for some months.”

“Good Lord! Is that all? As a matter of fact and though ‘tis none of your business, yes, we were close for a time during the winter. It was over long before spring set in. I don’t mean to be glib about it, but there it is in a nutshell,” the viscount said sitting back in his chair.

“You have not disclosed it all, have you?” Sir Owen put up a chin. “As it happens, you are now courting a young woman and I believe you would be loathe for her to know about your…situation with Miss Celia, as she might not be so very understanding of it.”

“Dash it man, do you think I would murder the poor girl, rather than allow my affair with her be known? You are a fool to suggest such a thing.”

“An affair is not what would make a bachelor so very concerned…but a child of his as a result of an affair…”

“Damn your eyes!” the viscount jumped to his feet. “You dare to suggest I would kill a young woman and one that was carrying
my child
? Get out of my home with your filthy accusations. Celia and I were over long before she was with child.”

“So you say,” Sir Owen pursued.

“Devil seize your heart and then feed it to the lions,” the viscount shouted. “Get out of my home.”

Sir Owen was up already and started for the door, “As a true friend of the Sherborne’s, I have to explore every possibility.”

“As do I,” the viscount shouted after him. “We all know that you and Celia were as you called it ‘intimately involved’ and that you were seeing her clandestinely up until nearly the moment she died, even when you were attempting to court Mandy. I think you have a sight more to answer for than I, my man!”

“Indeed,” put in the duke. “I think your involvement with Miss Celia trumps that of the viscount’s with regard to timing. After all, you must marry well in order to fully come about, must you not? Would the fair Miss Sherborne understand how you could so quickly drop her cousin and profess your love of her?”

“How dare you,” snapped Sir Owen. “I think you owe me an apology, if you are man enough…” Sir Owen snapped towards the viscount as he glared at the duke.

“Apology? You come into
my house
and insult me and turn around looking for an apology. You have a loose screw, my man, a loose screw,” Skip retorted.

“Good day, gentlemen,” Sir Owen said and slammed out of the library.

The duke turned to the viscount and said, “Well, this puts things in a new light.
Sit,
my friend…
let’s talk.”

Chapter Nine

MANDY SAT UP and pushed the thin blanket away from her body. The darkness of her self imposed cell was all encompassing, yet she strained through the blackness in an attempt to see her brother lying some few feet away.

Although she could hear his breathing, she could not make out his form. She tried calling to see if he was awake, “Ned…Neddy, are you sleeping?”

She received a caustic response, heard some grumbling and then his deep breathing again. She grimaced to herself and sighed wearily and loudly. No response. She tried again—still no response. The sound of his heavy breathing continued.

It was musky and uncomfortable and her straw bed was certainly not what she was used to—nor did time seem to be an aid to adjustment. Her small bones ached. She was dismal and restless, and her thoughts for no reason at all were always about the duke. What was he doing and with whom was he doing it with? Where was he and did he think her desirable? Could he think her desirable and, would he if she put some effort into it?

She lay back down and her mind focused on the blue forever in her thoughts—the color of his eyes. Such deep sky blue and forever twinkling; at least when he wasn’t glaring at her. He seemed to wear an expression that said he found the world at large absurd, which is how she often felt. They were alike in many ways—rule breakers, independent, and wildly passionate about life. A heavy sigh escaped her as she thought about her life and what a mess she was in.

She thought about what her life had been like for the last almost two years and crinkled her nose.
Life
? She hadn’t had much of a life. Even this cold discomfort at least made her feel alive, as for months and months everything she had been doing had left her listless and hungry for something else, something more
. There had to be more.

She no longer had a place, what with her friends all attached romantically. All of them, every single last one of them had whispered rapturously about the kisses they had enjoyed with a variety of fellows and then how much more they had enjoyed with their husbands.

Life for them had moved on and now here she was a fugitive. Kisses? Ah, but none of the few stolen kisses she had experienced had prepared her for the duke’s kisses. He had taken her out of her world and made her body and mind explode with sensation.

Sir Owen’s kiss had been the only kiss that had come from an experienced man. She had thought it very nice, but it was nothing, absolutely nothing when compared to the duke’s. When Sir Owen kissed her, she had thought it very exciting, but now she knew what it was to ‘feel’ really feel desire when a man took her into his arms, and she knew and admitted to herself that she desired the duke.

She had always been honest with herself. She might end an old maid, as her reputation was now ruined. Hiding out like a common criminal, would soil her for any guest list. So there would be no invitations to balls or routs in her future.

She sighed over this, for even if they saw themselves extricated safely out of this situation, she was ruined.

Her part in her brother’s escape would never be forgotten. No one, but a fortune seeker would want her. It was a very lowering thought.

And the problem here was, the man, the one man she seemed to think about above all others, was her guardian.

Even if he was attracted to her and the more she thought about it, the more she believed that because he was a duke, he would never soil his family’s name by aligning himself with a common criminal and that was what she had become.

Why had fate done this to her? Why was it that the man, whose kiss had driven her to distraction, was her guardian?

Why had fate turned her needs inside out and spelled his name as the director of those needs? Why?

And she knew she needed him—wanted his kisses to continue, wanted to learn everything his touch could teach her. She wanted him—
only him.

Life at the moment had given her a kick in the stomach.

He was not only a duke but a
rakehell
. She was sure he had had many women. What would he want with her?

She knew this without anyone having to tell her it was so and still she wanted him, if only to experience lovemaking at his hands. She was outrageous. However, she had been good and sweet and decent and look where it gotten her! With nothing and no one.

Well, if she was going to die a spinster, she was at least going to experience the joys of passion while she was still young. She wanted to experience those joys with the duke, because she dashed well did not want anyone else.

And there was the rub.

Would the duke kiss her again? Did he want to? He had pulled away, because her kiss had been inadequate.

It was a demeaning and lowering thought.

When would she see him again? Did she want to? Oh yes, annoying and domineering he might be, but she wanted to be with him again. She rolled over and closed her eyes.

Quietly, and with a presence that sent heat rushing through her blood and coursed anticipation in her wildly pumping heart, he appeared and stood before her. His shirt was open displaying his broad muscular chest and his eyes spoke volumes.

The world around them did not exist. They were alone...

 He reached for her and took her ardently into his embrace. He touched her lips with his own, parting them so that his tongue could enter and literally make her toes curl.

She held on to him and felt a wave of intense need shoot through her body. Her tongue melded with his and sparks of desire burned through her blood. She had been waiting for this.

His hand moved to her breast, sliding in beneath her shirt as his fingers found her hard nipples and…

She awoke with a start.
Faith
! She had been dreaming. Only dreaming.

It was over too soon.

Why did she have to wake up?

And what was wrong with her? She was supposed to be a ‘good’ girl and wait for marriage, but what if she never got married? This returning question seemed to stand out and haunt her. Why should she wait? A man wasn’t expected to wait…why should a woman?

She wasn’t alone in asking this question. Closeted with her friends, it was all they had talked about in school days past, after reading articles by the Godwin women about women’s rights.

She was being absurd. As though the duke would ever even notice her again. And if he didn’t, what then?

She simply had to stop thinking about him. And still she heard his voice whisper in her ear…

* * *

Just as Mandy lay awake determined not to think about the duke, he was sitting up in his room, going over the strange tense conversation he had experienced with Skip during dinner and trying to force her image out of his mind.

Skippy was never given to moods and bleak utterances and yet, the evening had showed him a side of his friend he had never witnessed ever before.

Skip always had something to say and jest about in his habitual urbane manner, but the viscount clearly was reticent during their evening together, almost to the point of rudeness.

They had been too close, too long for the duke not to wonder about this and say, “Skip, I have no wish to intrude on your privacy, but perhaps I may be able to help with whatever is troubling you?”

“Help
? Who said anything about needing help?” retorted the viscount shocked out of his meandering.

The duke had been sure that his friend was blushing. “You didn’t have to say anything about it. ‘Tis obvious to me,” retorted the duke surprised even further by his friend’s attitude.

“Well, nothing is troubling me. What’s more, going to bed,” the viscount said suddenly getting up and putting down his unfinished glass of port.

“No, really old boy. Doing it too brown ain’t you?” the duke was actually stunned by this. “Going to bed at eight? What sort of gudgeon do you take me for?”

The viscount leveled a look at his friend and said, “Devil is in it that…never mind…got this headache, Brock. Don’t feel quite the thing. Rest…that’s the ticket, ole boy. Sorry to be such a poor host…but can’t be helped.”

“Right, well then, off with you,” the duke returned. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He had not believed a word Skip had uttered, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it at that moment.

Thus, he had gone up to his own room earlier than he was wont to do in London and wondered how the devil he was going to get any sleep. What sort of hell had he plunged himself into in Yorkshire? Every sense, every nerve knew something was toward with the viscount, but if Skip wouldn’t speak of it, there was nothing he could do.

On top of that, was the problem of clearing Ned’s name and getting it done as quickly as he was able. Matters were getting murky and although he was certain he knew Skip too well to be brought to believe that he had anything to do with Celia’s death, he was concerned about getting to the entire truth of the matter. Why hadn’t Skip mentioned his connection to her earlier? Was that what was pecking at the viscount?

He moved to the balcony, throwing off his buckskin waistcoat and standing just outside the balcony door to breathe in the sultry night air, when something caught his attention and he went perfectly still.

A dark clad figure moved stealthy across the lawns.

He recognized the shape and style of movement and knew immediately who the darkly clad figure was. What in thunder was going on?

“Devil a bit!” he mumbled.
Skip!
So that was it—the viscount had turned in early because he wanted to sneak off.
Why?

Just what the deuce was going on here? He had almost confided in the viscount that he had met the twins and knew where they were hiding. Now, he was glad he had held his tongue. It appeared the viscount had a secret or two of his own.

Sleep had not come easy after that. He was sick at heart because Skip was such a dear friend and this was disconcerting. He just didn’t know what to make of it, as no explanation that made any sense sat well with him.

He left his bed early in the morning as the sun streamed through the window whose drapes he had not closed. His heart and head both felt heavy.

Conjectures pounded in his brain as he washed and shaved. He donned buckskin riding clothes and his shining hessians, but he was torn about what he was going to do with regard to the viscount.

He found upon entering the breakfast room that he wouldn’t have to deal with it, as the viscount had already gone off, which did nothing to relieve his concerns.

By damn,
he told himself,
he was going to get to the bottom of this.

* * *

Mandy’s sleep had been fitful. She had risen washed her face and hands with cold water and thrown on one of her brother’s fresh shirts. It hung to her knees and she grimaced over the way she looked. At first, this had all been a grand adventure. Even dressing in boy’s clothing had been so very exciting. Now, with no end in sight, she was beginning to feel ‘blue deviled’.

She went looking for him and found him sitting outside in the shade of the overhang of the abbey’s Chapel. “‘Tis so hot, isn’t it Neddy?” she said as she dropped beside him and nudged his arm with her shoulder.

“Aye,” he agreed but gave her a grin. “More than usual, I suppose.”

“And that dried beef was an awful breakfast. I was giving some thought to going into Manchester where no one knows us and have a decent meal at an Inn. Could we, Ned?”

“Coo,” stuck in Chauncey coming around the corner at that moment. “Of all the addle-brained notions, missy. Some picture the three of us would set and with the likes of Fowler nosing about, it just won’t serve.”

“But Chauncey, Mandy has a point,” Ned stuck in. “Manchester is big enough and too full of odd sorts for us to be noticed. And I’m hungry for a decent meal too.”

“Lord love ye, children and children is whot ye be,
not
thinking it out.” He sighed heavily and offered, “I’ll see what I can do. Have a fancy for pigeon pie meself.” He stretched his husky limbs and announced, “Think I’ll pay a visit to m’darlin’ Bess. ‘Tis time I gave her a song.”

“At Sherborne?” Mandy objected fearfully. “Oh Chauncey…no, not now…anyone could see you.”

“Ain’t a fool, missy and ye would do best to remember that. I’ll just catch one of the boys in the field and send him to fetch Bess to me with what we need. There isn’t a Sherborne servant not wishing to help ye and Ned. So don’t be worrying yerself. I won’t be long.” He eyed Ned. “Ye can come along for the ride, but keep yer cap hat tucked in low over yer face.”

“Well then, why can’t I come with you?”

“I need Ned to help me carry the supplies, but it would be best if we didn’t stir up any dust for anyone to follow. Ye stay here. If we get nabbed I don’t want ye caught up in it.”

Mandy sighed for she knew that Chauncey would hog-tie her to a post if he had to just to keep her from following.

She watched them go and sat back against the limestone wall. At least it was cool against the stone in the shade. Bored silly, she closed her eyes, but when something, she wasn’t sure what, startled her and she opened them, it was to find a pair of deep and twinkling blue eyes regarding her.