Paying the Virgin's Price (12 page)

Chapter Twelve

         
D
uring the week that Diana was away, Nathan could think of little else but her return. Although it was unlikely that he'd have seen her until the next Tuesday, even had she remained in London, he had not realized the comfort he felt in knowing that a chance meeting was possible. Now that she was gone, each mile between them was a hardship.

          He went to the tables each night, just as he always had. But he played listlessly, paying little attention to the desires of men and women across the baize. Where once he would have watched without emotion as his opponents bankrupted themselves, now when games got out of hand he could no longer contain his disgust, with them or himself.

          As yet another broken fool began rooting in his pockets for some treasured heirloom to cast away, Nate stood up from the table, hours earlier than normal, proclaiming loud enough for all to hear that he would rather play cards with the kitchen cat than to watch another soul publicly shame themselves at his expense.

          As he pushed his way through the crowd, he heard the ladies muttering amongst themselves that, while they still found Mr Dale was quite attractive, of late he had not been nearly as diverting as they had hoped.

          He smiled to himself at this. Her absence had convinced him that there was only one woman in London that he wished to entertain. But was it better to initiate contact, or to wait until she was returned and was ready to see him? Surely scrawling a line or two to welcome her back to London would not be seen as forward. But had she even returned from Stanegate? He did not know. When they had parted, she had been able to give him no firm date of return. As always, her schedule was at the mercy of the Carlow family.

          He quietly damned them all for their hold over her life, and damned himself for placing her in the situation. A week without seeing her had seemed like an eternity. It had given him too much time to relive the previous meetings and imagine possibilities for the next. Assuming that there would be a next meeting. What if she had decided not to follow through on their plan, and realized that it would be better to remove herself from him? It was no less than he deserved. Perhaps she had found some other gentleman whose company she preferred. Or maybe the next meeting was assumed, and he would find her waiting in the park on Tuesday.

          There were so many possibilities that he could not choose and was driving himself mad with trying. At last, he decided there could be no harm in going to the park for a walk on the normal Tuesday, and went so far as to forgo his Monday evening at the tables so that he might be rested and waiting for her in Hyde Park on the following morning.

          He arrived on the usual footpath by the Serpentine promptly at ten, to find Diana Price pacing the ground ahead of him in obvious agitation. Not only had she come, but it thrilled him to think she had arrived early, as though she were afraid she would miss him. He frowned. Unless there were some other reason for her anxiety.

          When she saw him, she looked up with a relieved smile, and he hurried to her side. He clasped her hand, to assure himself that she was safely returned and not just a vision of what he wished to see. 'I was not sure you would come. Perhaps you were still travelling, or had decided that my last request was too forward? But I decided to wait here each Tuesday until you returned.'

          'I hoped you would.' She gave a relieved sigh. 'But if you did not come, then at least you would not see me waiting for you.'

          He grinned. 'I thought the same.' So she had been eager to see him. All of his previous concerns for her safety, and worse, her constancy, evaporated. 'Come, let us walk.' He offered her his arm.

          'That would be delightful.' She took the offered arm, her fingers giving it a light squeeze that warmed his heart. 'And could it be somewhere secluded, if possible? For I have something to show you.'

          He gave her a vague nod and set off with her, down the path and away from the other early walkers, laughing at his own foolishness. For a moment, he had quite forgotten the real reason for their meeting and had heard only what he longed to hear. It had sounded quite like she wished to be alone with him for no other reason than that they might share a moment of intimacy. But then he remembered the journal and the need to keep it a secret.

          Devil take the thing. He still wanted to see it, of course. But he had not realized just how much he had wished to see its bearer, until he had spied her on the path before him. When he was sure they were out of sight of prying eyes, he pulled her into the shade of a nearby outbuilding and drew to a stop.

          Then, she slipped the small leather volume from her pocket. 'I think this will be of interest to you. Read it, starting from where I have marked. And notice the missing pages? I fear that a lack of evidence may be as damning as an excess of truth. For what reason would he have had to remove the page, other than that he regretted what he had written about the night in question?'

          Nathan was turning quickly through the book, scanning the pages eagerly, shocked at the vitriol of some of the posts. George Carlow had been no true friend of his father's, to be sure. The entries sounded as though any bond between them had been severed in the months before Hebden's death.

          Then he came to the missing pages, fingering the ripped paper scraps at the binding. The full story should reside here. Had it been torn out in anger? Shame? Guilt? It could be any reason. But it seemed plain that Carlow had not wanted the full truth known, so had disposed of the evidence.

          He looked up at her, excitement on his face. 'There is a secret of some kind. It supports my suspicions, does it not?'

          'I fear it does.'

          'And now, I must decide what I will do with the information.' He frowned in distaste as a possibility occurred to him.

          Lord Keddinton had risen far since the days when he was humble Robert Veryan and eager for a chance to dine with the Wardales. His help with the prosecution of the Earl of Leybourne had earned him his own title, just as it had taken Nate's away. 'There is a man who might help, if he had a mind to. He is an old acquaintance of my family.' He smiled bitterly. 'And I believe he owes me a favour. I will take it to him and see what he makes of it.'

          But Lord Narborough would surely hear of an investigation and would punish anyone he thought disloyal. Nate gave Diana a worried look. 'But before I do anything, I must help you to get away.'

          'Away?' She almost laughed. 'Away from what, sir?'

          'From the Carlows, of course.'

          'I am safe in London with Verity and Honoria. I have nothing to fear from them.'

          'But I think you will, if the information in this book becomes public and they understand how I came by it.' He reached out and took her by the hand. 'And I would not, for all the world, have anything happen to you, my darling Diana.' The endearment slipped easily from his lips, and he saw the sweet look of surprise as it registered on her.

          And then, he was drawing her further into the shadows, and cupping her face in his hands. His hands strayed to the ribbon that held her bonnet, and she batted them away. 'What are you doing?'

          'Being very impertinent, I think.' He returned to his task and untied the bow that held it in place, then reached up to lift it gently off her hair. He leaned closer to smell the soft scent of her, and whispered, 'I have been dreaming of seeing the sunlight on your hair. Would the lights in it be gold, I wondered? But I was wrong. They are the deep red of Spanish wine.'

          'Oh.' Her voice was breathless, and her hands still rested lightly on his wrists as though unsure whether or not to stop him.

          He traced the curves of her ear with his tongue, and his teeth caught the lobe, sucking it gently into his mouth. She was soft and sweet and wonderful. And she had no idea how the simplest mysteries of her body would affect a man. She had kept them all hidden, even such small treats as this. And the way she sighed in response to the slightest nip on her ear boded well for the future.

          'We mustn't,' she managed, after a few more delicious moments. But the tone hinted that, while she was sure she mustn't, she wished for much more.

          'Do not worry,' he whispered. 'We won't. Not yet, at any rate. But do not blame me too much for doing this.' He pulled her close to kiss the side of her throat, turning her so that he could reach the nape of her neck, and he felt her ribs moving under his fingers, for the kisses to her throat made her breath release in shallow gasps. 'And do not fault me for wanting to take down your hair, so that I might run my fingers through it. To see it free as it lies on the pillow, and tousled as it is when first you wake.' He touched her very gently, so as not to disturb her coiffure. The silken smoothness of it made his fingers itch for more. 'Maybe I could take a single pin. It could be a curl blown loose by the wind, or caught in a ribbon and disarranged. An accident. Nothing more. But no. Once I start, I will not be able to stop.'

          For he was sure it would not be enough to take down her hair. Next he would be laying her down in the new grass, and begging to make love to her where they could smell the first scents of spring. It would be sweet disaster, but it would bind her to him in ways that would make her rejection impossible, should she learn the truth of his character.

          He made to release her, for her good and the sake of his own sanity. But she reached up and took him by the chin, squirming against him until she could force his lips to meet hers. She rewarded him with the kiss he longed to give her: open mouthed and passionate, innocent and inexperienced. Utterly delightful.

          And so, he gave himself up to the pleasure and did not release her until he had marked every bit of her mouth as his. He heard the distant thump of her bonnet dropping to the ground and let his empty hands move over her, from shoulders to back to bottom, moulding her body to his, feeling the pressure building within him.

          She should struggle, or argue or give some sign that she wished him to stop. If she did not, he did not know if he would be able to save them both from this madness. But instead, she wrapped her arms about his waist, clinging to him, letting him support her as he took all he wanted.

          It was her total surrender to him that gave him the strength to break the kiss and push her gently away. He shook his head as he smiled to reassure her, then gave a quick look about them, to be sure that they were still alone. 'Oh, my sweet, I am foolish to risk you in this way. What will you think of me, when your head clears enough to realize how we have carried on?' He reached down and picked up her bonnet, which was looking rather scuffed after being crushed between them and then cast upon the ground.

          She took it, and concentrated on straightening the flowers and fluffing the lone feather, and he wondered what had hurt her, his forwardness or the suddenness of his rejection? 'It is perfectly all right, Mr Dale. I was well aware of what I was doing.'

          He scoffed. 'Throwing yourself away on a wastrel, without care for your reputation. And the only defence I can offer is that you have bewitched me with your beauty, Miss Price. One disapproving quirk of those very proper lips and I am lost to all propriety. I must have them. I must have you. I swear, the frown on your face right now is more delightful than a hundred smiles from another woman.'

          There was the slightest smile on her lips as she finished with the bonnet, which he feared would never be quite the same, and placed it back on her head, tying it in a firm bow. 'Your praise would be more convincing, Nathan, if it were not so fulsome.'

          He leaned back against the building, eyes closed and hands behind his head, and laughed, waiting for the beat of his heart to slow and his reason to return. 'Thank you, dear Lord, she is calling me Nathan again.' He opened an eye and peered at her. 'And smiling. The blush on that cheek is more perfect than any rose.' Then he said, softly and slowly, so that she might believe him, 'Forgive me my excessive praise. I have never been in love before, and I am rather at a loss as to how to go on.'

         
Love
. He had said the word aloud to her, and now he would see what she made of it. Suddenly afraid, he went on talking, leaving her no time to respond. 'Give me time. I will grow into it, I am sure. And I will find a manner of praising you that suits your practical and modest nature. If you prefer, I will compliment you on your generous heart and your excellent manners, and remain silent with my suspicions that you are Venus herself, hiding behind a prim facade.' He patted the pocket that held the journal. 'When this is taken care of, we will have no need to sneak about in the woods, stealing kisses and tempting fate. I will take you away with me. And when I do, I mean to keep you safe and make you happy. I will make it right again, you shall see.'

          She looked puzzled at his last words. And he realized that they made no sense. For why would Nathan Dale wish to make amends for her past, if he'd had no part in it? He waited to see if she understood. If she questioned him, he would tell her the truth and go where it led.

          Instead, she said, 'I would like that very much.'

          He was still free of the past, if there was freedom in hiding. But what did it matter, as long as she wanted him? And while she had not offered love in words, he had heard the truth in the response of her body to his. It would be all right between them, somehow. He smiled at her. 'I have much work to do. To secure our future.' He reached out for her, kissing her fingertips before linking her arm with his. 'Will you allow me to escort you home, Miss Price?'

          'Gladly, sir.'

Chapter Thirteen

         
N
athan came back to the Fourth Circle that afternoon, flushed with the success of his walk with Diana. He had escorted her to the very door of the Carlow town house, and bid her a proper farewell. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world, and not an endeavour fraught with risk. He had pushed aside the hundred worries in his mind about his mending his tattered reputation and her preserving her spotless one, and enjoyed the little time they'd had as he should have done. Caution was all well and good, when kept in its place. But if he wished for a future that was a tenth as happy as this morning had been, it was time to act, even at the risk of failure.

          Dante indicated with the barest nod of his head that he would find the Gypsy seated at their usual table. Nathan approached slowly, to assess the mood of the man. There was no sign of the headache of two weeks ago. And with a doxy on his knee and a drink in his hand, Stephano looked almost at ease. It seemed he had taken the two weeks as a holiday from his quest, as well. His usual dark mood was gone, and as Nathan watched, he leaned back his head and laughed at something the girl had whispered to him. It sounded nothing like the sour mirth Nathan had heard from him, when gloating over the misfortune of his victims. The girl responded with a kiss, and then tossed her head and laughed as well.

          She was rewarded with jealous glares from the other women in the room, who were looking at the Gypsy as though they would gladly change places with his chosen
inamorata
, the moment he lost interest in her.

          For a moment, it was as if Nate's old friend had grown to adulthood and sat before him, ready for a game of cards. Then Stephano looked up, and his good mood evaporated, as though it had not existed. The merriment disappeared and a cynically smiling mask covered his handsome features. He muttered something and pushed the girl from his lap, then raised his glass in a sarcastic salute. 'Nathan.'

          Nate dropped into the chair opposite, noting the absence of a surname in the greeting. The Gypsy had not yet decided if he had earned the right to hide behind the name Dale. He said nothing in response and placed the journal on the table between them.

          The Gypsy raised an eyebrow. 'What is this?'

          'Proof enough for you to leave me alone. The entries in this book show Narborough to be no real friend of my father, nor of you. If you wish for justice, get out of my chair and go to bother him.'

          Stephano opened the book at the marked page and began to read. When he came to the missing pages, he looked up. 'There is nothing at all here about the night of the murder.'

          'Is that not strange? Was the event not significant enough to record in detail? Or perhaps George Carlow wrote the whole truth in an impetuous moment and then thought the better of it and tore out the pages.'

          Stephen closed the book and offered it back to him. 'When you bring me the missing pages, I will tell you what I think.'

          'Until recently, I would have been unable to get this much information. If you want the missing parts? Then find them yourself. I have given you more than enough reason to doubt.'

          Beshaley gave him a sceptical look. 'Why would it matter to me what they say?'

          Perhaps it would have mattered to the man who had been sitting here as he had arrived. So Nate appealed to him. 'For a moment, let us ignore the nonsense of your mother's curse. Stephen Hebden, if you care who killed your father, then this journal could make us more allies than antagonists.'

          The man across the table from him did not respond, staring in response to his old name as though Nate had not spoken.

          'All right then. Stephano Beshaley.' Then he continued. 'If my father died for a murder he did not commit, do I not have as great a reason as you to be angry? I lost a father, a title and my reputation, just as you did. And my family as well. You seem to have found a new one, when you returned to your people. But my sisters are lost to me.'

          A shadow flitted across the face of his old friend, and then it was gone.

          'I have no love for the Carlows. I've proved as much for you. Can you not lift the curse from the Wardales?'

          'I tell you again, it is not for me to decide what happens. The curse is a test, Nathan. I have been called to administer it. You will pass or fail, according to your nature. If you are innocent, then nothing I do will truly harm you. There will be a period of hardship, and all will come right in the end. And perhaps it will bring me closer to my goal.'

          Nathan laughed bitterly. 'I knew you once, Stephen Hebden. For that is who you were, though you wish to reject it. And I liked you. You were a kind boy, a good friend, and had things been different, you would have grown to be a good man. And now you are willing to destroy my life on a
perhaps
.'

          The Gypsy shook his head. 'You give me too much power, Nathan. Only God can truly destroy a man, just as he created him. If I am not doing his work, then I cannot hurt you. It is up to him to decide your fate.'

          'Small comfort. I will only meet my end if God thinks I deserve to. Any number of horrible things have happened to me when we were young. And I did not deserve a one of them. They made me into the man I am, a person I take no pride in being. Now, after life has driven all the goodness from me, you seek me out and hope that God will find me wanting, so that I may be punished further?'

          The Gypsy gave him a wry smile. 'I'll take no joy in it, if that is the case. For once, I liked you as well. But take heart, Nathan. Whatever might occur, it will be over soon enough. For both of us.' He reached to pocket the book.

          Nathan held a hand out for it. 'Here, then. If this will not end things between us, then give that back.'

          The Gypsy shrugged, but returned the book. 'What do you mean to do with it? Confront Narborough?'

          'That would make me no better than you. If you think my fate is in the hands of God, then I will take the thing to the authorities and see if they can make anything of the contents.'

          Beshaley snorted. 'Because English justice has treated you fairly in the past?'

          'Because it is the right thing to do. And what my father would have done, if he were alive.' Nate straightened his back. 'If I truly believe that he was innocent, then I had best start behaving so. If I think there is truth to be revealed, then I do not mean to skulk in the bushes like a common criminal. I will go to Lord Keddinton with it and let him use the information as he sees fit. He knew both our fathers and is well placed in the Home Office. He will have the power to follow through on this, if anyone does.' The idea had been but a stray thought when he'd mentioned it to Diana. But spoken, Nate knew the rightness of it. For suddenly, he felt more like the true Earl of Leybourne than he had since the day his father had died.

          But Stephen was unimpressed. 'Good luck with it, old friend. I wish you success. I truly do. But if your father is innocent, you may find that the world is less interested in truth than you think.'

          'I am Nathan Wardale. I wish to see Lord Keddinton, on a matter of business, please.' It had been so long since he'd used it, his own name sounded strange in his ears.

          Perhaps the unfamiliarity showed in his tone. For the butler at Robert Veryan's country estate raised an eyebrow, as though doubting his word. Nate could offer no calling card to assure the man of his identity. So he stood his ground and gave the kind of cold stare that he might have given had he still been a peer, as though he was not accustomed to being kept waiting on the doorstep.

          At least there was no sneering response to the name Wardale. The man was certainly old enough to remember the scandal, but too disciplined to show distaste for his employer's business. After a chilly pause, the servant stood aside to allow him entrance, taking him to a receiving room not far from the front door. A short time later, a footman came to escort Nate the rest of the way to Keddinton's office.

          As he was presented, Nate resisted the urge to shift nervously on the carpet before the desk like an errant schoolboy called to the headmaster for punishment. Though Keddinton had been expecting him, now that Nate stood before his desk, the man kept him waiting in silence as the footman retreated, and continued to read the papers in front of him. It was a move designed to demonstrate that whatever business Nate might have, it could not be of sufficient importance to hold his full attention for more than a moment.

          Nate smiled to himself and relaxed, as he recognized the gambit for what it was. While some might take it for a masterstroke of manipulation, it was really no better than the bluff of an inexperienced card player. When did a man with a good hand need to work so hard? Lord Keddinton was wary of him. Perhaps even frightened. And knowing that made the waiting much easier.

          But what had Keddinton to fear from him? The man had been a friend of his father's at one time--long ago, before their disgrace. There had never been any indication that he was less than fair in his dealings before the trial or since. Surely an appeal based on that friendship would be heard.

          Robert Veryan need have no fear of vengeance from him, for he had done nothing to earn it. Let Beshaley harass everyone involved with his Gypsy nonsense, if he wished. If Nate wanted things settled, he had best start behaving as though he were a rational gentleman with nothing to fear. Vindication after all this time could mean a return of the title and his good name in a way so public that it would regain him his family.

          And lose him his love. If he was revealed as Nathan Wardale, Diana would hear of it. Perhaps a public attempt to clear his old name would show her that he had changed and meant her no harm. But at least he would be honest with her. And he suspected that the truth would be easier to accept if she heard it from the new Earl of Leybourne. She would certainly like that better than if it came from Nate Dale. Or worse yet, from the Gypsy.

          So Nate waited patiently in front of the desk, and at last, Keddinton looked up from his papers, showing little interest in the man before him. 'Mr Wardale.'

          'Lord Keddinton. I have news of an old matter.'

          'I assume it concerns the disgrace of your family.' Keddinton pursed his lips, as though the matter was distasteful to him.

          Nathan nodded. 'Fresh information has come to me concerning the death of Christopher Hebden.'

          'Concerning your father's part in the events?' Keddinton leaned forward.

          'My father had no part in the events, other than to place his trust in the wrong people. I think the same as I always have. There was a miscarriage of justice. My father did not commit the crime he was charged with.'

          Keddinton leaned back again. 'And you have waited twenty years to come forward with it?'

          'There have been difficulties that prevented me.' Would the man check his background and find the desertion? It was probably within his power. And from the disapproving look on his face, it was no different than he would expect from a Wardale. 'Recently, something has come to light that might change your view of the situation.'

          He pushed the book forward, onto the desk, so that Keddinton could see the title, in gold upon the spine.

          The man stared at it without interest. 'And what might this mean to me?'

          'Read it. Particularly the pages leading up to and following the day of Christopher Hebden's death.'

          Keddinton opened the book and paged through it, stopping as he got to the marked page, then pausing to read. Then he looked up, his expression unchanged. 'And you think there is significance in this?'

          'I should think it would be obvious. George Carlow's friends suspected him of being a traitor. And he says nothing to deny the claim.'

          'An innocent man would not feel the need.'

          'The missing pages imply guilt.'

          'Or spilled ink. Or damage by mice. Or nothing at all. For all I know, you removed them yourself before bringing me this, in an attempt to shift your father's guilt on to Lord Narborough. Did you ask him to explain them?'

          'Of course not.'

          'He did not give you this book, then?'

          'Why, no. I...'

          'Then how did you come by this?'

          Caught in the sudden barrage of questions, Nate understood how Lord Keddinton had gained a reputation as the most crafty of spymasters, for he was a difficult man to distract. 'That is not important.' And damn him if he hadn't tipped Keddinton to how important it must be by saying those words. But it had not occurred to him, when he had come here, how quickly blame might fall onto Diana.

          As suddenly as the questions started, they stopped. The other man pushed the book aside and sighed, his sternness evaporating into sympathy. 'I understand, Nathan, that you are eager to clear your father in the murder. You lost much by it and must wish to escape the disgrace. You loved him, as a good son should, and do not wish to believe him capable of evil. But I have seen no evidence, in twenty long years, that there was anyone else at work against the crown. Although you do not wish to believe it, the activities of the spy stopped conveniently after the death of your father. You must also understand that I cannot act on guesses and assumptions. I will look into the matter, of course. For if we were wrong, and the traitor escaped?' He shook his head. 'That would be a most serious thing, indeed.'

          He paused, watching Nathan for a bit, as though weighing out choices before speaking further. Then he leaned forward again and said, 'When you came to me, I had hoped...I should not even tell you this, for it is a fact that few know and a matter of state security. But you had no part in this crime. And I would like to believe you would help, if you could, whether your father was involved or not. You would put the good of the country before your own needs, would you not?'