The Handmaiden's Necklace (19 page)

She heard Rafe’s voice in her ear. “You needn’t look so worried. I realize I have been remiss in my duties of late, but you may be certain that will change. I intend to keep you well pleasured, madam, and in return, there is every likelihood you will give me a houseful of sons and daughters.”

Dani couldn’t manage to speak. For the first time she realized the gravity of what she had done. As long as Rafe was married to her, he would have no legitimate heir. If an accident were to befall him, if he grew ill unexpectedly and died—God forbid—Arthur Bartholomew would inherit the dukedom.

“Are you all right, love? You’re looking awfully pale.”

“I—I am fine.” She tried to muster a smile. “It’s been a long evening. I think I am beginning to tire.”

“As am I,” Rafe said, though he didn’t look tired in the least. “Mother, I’m afraid you’re going to have to make our excuses. Danielle is feeling unwell.”

The duchess eyed her shrewdly. “Yes, I can see that.” She smiled up at Rafe. “You must put your wife to bed immediately.”
And, of course, you must join her
were the unspoken words.
The sooner you get her with child, the safer our family will be.

“Come, love.” Rafe’s hand settled at her waist.

“Good night, Your Grace,” Dani said to his mother as they walked away, but when they reached her room, he didn’t join her, just rang for Caro to help her undress and retired to his own room to sleep.

The following morning, a note came for Rafe from Jonas McPhee. It confirmed his return to London and asked for an appointment with Rafael at Sheffield House that night.

Declining to sup with Danielle, worried about what news Jonas might be bringing, Rafe was at work in his study when the butler appeared to announce the Bow Street runner’s arrival.

“Show him in,” Rafe commanded, and a few minutes later, McPhee walked into the study, stout, balding, one of his knotted hands shoved into the pocket of his worn woolen coat.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, Your Grace. The weather turned inclement and the damnable muddy roads were nearly impossible to traverse.”

“Your note said you found the thief who stole my wife’s necklace.”

Jonas seemed to carefully choose his words. “I found the man you were seeking. Apparently, he used the necklace as collateral for a loan to pay for his passage from America. He was living in a small cottage that belongs to a man named Stephen Lawrence. As you requested, the authorities were contacted and the man arrested. Mr. Lawrence was out of town at the time.”

“What is this man’s name?”

“He calls himself Robert McCabe, though I am not at all certain that is his true identity.”

“Where is McCabe now?”

“He’s being transported by wagon to Newgate prison. I imagine he will arrive there sometime tomorrow.”

“How did you find him?”

“Actually, that wasn’t as difficult as I had imagined. As it turns out, this McCabe is quite a handsome fellow. He is an educated man, the sort to charm the ladies. One of the shopkeepers’ wives remembered him very well. Apparently, he asked her for directions to Evesham. I headed for the village, and once I got there, a tavern maid remembered seeing him. She said she thought he was staying somewhere nearby. I started asking around, and I found him at the cottage.”

“I see.”

The runner’s face betrayed his nervousness. Rafe steepled his fingers as he leaned back in the deep leather chair behind his desk. “You have always been a diplomatic sort, Jonas. What is it you are wishing you didn’t have to tell me?”

Jonas ran a hand over his bald head and sighed. “McCabe never denied he was the man who brought the necklace to the moneylender in Liverpool. But he vehemently denied being a thief. He said he hadn’t sold the jewelry outright because he hoped to buy it back. He said the necklace was a gift, one he hoped to return one day to its rightful owner.”

“Finish it, Jonas.”

“McCabe said the Duchess of Sheffield gave him the necklace so that he would have the money to return to England.”

A long silence ensued.

Rafe’s stomach felt tied in a knot. “I take it you believe this man’s story.”

“I’m afraid I do. I could be wrong, of course, but—”

“Your instincts have never failed you, Jonas. I imagine they will hold you in good stead this time, as well.” Rafe rose from his chair, fighting to control the jealousy boiling through him, the fury growing with every breath he took. “I’ll proceed with the information you’ve provided. As always, thank you for your hard work.”

Jonas rose to his feet. “You intend to speak to McCabe?”

“As soon as he arrives at the prison.” He didn’t say that in the meantime, he would be speaking at length to his wife.

“Good night, Your Grace.”

“Good night, Jonas.” The runner walked to the door and disappeared out into the corridor, and Rafe went over and poured himself a drink. The brandy burned down his throat, but it did nothing to calm the fury scorching through him. He downed the drink, poured himself another and took a hefty swallow.

All the while, his mind kept returning to the fact his wife
had given his wedding gift to another man—a handsome, charming, educated man who appealed greatly to the ladies.

Of course, as McPhee had said, it might not be true. The man might have simply made up the tale in an effort to save his own skin. Whatever had happened, the man had not seduced her. Danielle had, after all, been a virgin when Rafe took her.

He thought of how he had accused her unfairly before and how wrong he had been, and the price they had both paid because of it. It was a mistake he refused to make again.

And yet, from the start, he had sensed Danielle was lying to him about the necklace.

Rafe tossed back the last of his drink, set the brandy glass down on the table and walked over to the safe built into the wall of his study. Reaching inside, he took out the red satin pouch and closed the heavy iron door.

Rafe tucked the bag into his pocket and strode out of the study.

“I
wish I knew what to do, Caro. I tell myself it is better that he remain distant, that it is safer for me that way, but Rafael is my husband and part of me wishes it could be different, that at least we could be friends.”

Caro flicked her a glance, and Dani flushed where she sat on the stool in front of the mirror. She and Rafe might not be friends, but they were passionate lovers. Or at least for a while they had been.

“The duke has not been himself since well before the ball,” Caro said, pulling the brush through Dani’s hair. “Perhaps if you could discover what is amiss, matters would improve between you.”

Dressed for bed in a white cotton night rail, her hair not yet braided for sleeping, she started to reply, but a sharp rap on the door ended the conversation with her friend.

“I’ll get it,” Caro said, heading toward the sound, assuming it was one of the chambermaids, but before she reached the door, it swung open and Rafael strode into the room.

His eyes were a glittering shade of blue and there was steel in his jaw. “If you will excuse us, Miss Loon.”

Dani’s heartbeat sputtered into gear.

Caro cast her a worried glance and practically bolted for the door. “Good night, Your Grace.” The door closed firmly behind her.

Rafe’s gaze swept over Danielle, his expression one of burning intensity. A muscle jumped in his cheek.

“You are dressed for bed….” he said as if it didn’t happen every night.

“Why, yes, I…I didn’t expect you would join me. I—I mean, you haven’t in some time, and I thought that…” She was babbling, she knew, but couldn’t seem to stop.

“Yes…?” The anger remained in his eyes, but now she saw something more, the heat of desire that always seemed to burn between them.

“Well, as I said, it has been some time.”

“Too long a time.” He moved toward her, hauled her up from the stool and straight into his arms.

Rafe’s mouth crushed down over hers and for an instant she was simply too stunned to speak. She knew he was angry, knew he hadn’t come to her room to make love. But now, as he kissed her, it was clear his intentions had changed. His long frame pressed against her and she could feel his rigid arousal. He tasted faintly of brandy and the virility that was Rafe. When he deepened the kiss, when his tongue slid into her mouth, the fire between them kindled to life and whatever he had come for no longer mattered.

Dani slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, slid her tongue over his and heard him groan. His hands found her breasts and he began to caress them, mold
ing them through the soft cotton fabric, plucking the crests into hard little buds. Unconsciously, she arched toward him, pressing the fullness into his hands, rubbing her stiff nipples against his palms like a cat seeking attention.

“You like this.”

A little mew seeped from her throat and a sliver of heat ran through her.

“I remember the first time I touched you this way,” he said, “that day in the apple orchard. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the way you trembled, just as you are now.”

Rafe kissed her again and raw need poured through her. She felt his hands sliding over her bottom, cupping her and pulling her against the hardness at the front of his breeches. He was fiercely aroused, and so was she. No matter what happened, she wanted this, wanted him.

The hands on her hips turned her to face the mirror and seeing the two of them together, knowing that soon they would be joined, made her loins tighten with need.

He reached toward her, pulled the ribbon at the neck of her night rail and slid the gown off her shoulders. He eased it down over her hips, into a puddle at her feet.

“Put your palms on the stool,” he commanded, his fingers circling her wrists, easing her forward. In the mirror, he stood behind her, tall and dark, his eyes so very blue, and there was something incredibly erotic about being completely naked while he remained fully clothed.

“I’ve never had you this way,” he said, “but I’ve wanted to.” His gaze held hers in the mirror, mesmerized her as his hand stroked over her bottom. “Part your legs for me.”

Her body pulsed, tightened. The look in his eyes promised pleasure and she trusted him to give her that. Still, the
hard set of his jaw betrayed the anger that lay beneath his surface calm.

“I don’t think—”

“Do it.”

Her heartbeat quickened at the deep, masculine tone of authority. Heat collected between her legs, and desire burned through her blood. She did as he commanded, felt his hands running over her bottom, sliding between her legs, then he began to stroke her.

Desire melted into her stomach, slipped out through her limbs, and her loins throbbed. When she felt his heavy length probing for entrance, when he slid his hardness deep into her she arched her back and her eyes locked with his in the mirror.

Rafe gripped her hips, holding her in place to receive his deep thrusts, taking her roughly, pounding into her again and again. Her own need swelled and her body tightened around him. Her eyes slid closed as release shook her, but Rafe did not stop. Not until she peaked again, then he let himself go, taking his own release, a low groan coming from his throat.

They spiraled down together, Rafe still standing behind her. She felt him withdraw, and in the mirror, the rigid set of his features returned.

He plucked her blue quilted wrapper off the bench at the foot of her bed and handed it over as he refastened the front of his breeches and straightened his clothes. Dani slipped on the robe and firmly tied the sash.

Rafe glanced off toward the window. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” His expression betrayed his regret. He had lost control. Rafe hated for that to happen, but Dani wasn’t sorry. She despised his oh-so-precious control.

“If not to make love, then why did you come?”

Reaching into the pocket of his burgundy tailcoat, he drew out a red satin pouch. “I believe these belong to you.”

Dani recognized the pouch. Dear God, the pearls! She started to tremble, opened her mouth to speak, but her mouth was so dry she could barely form the words. “The necklace.”

“You look surprised to see it.” He took the pearls out of the satin pouch, let them dangle from his long, dark fingers.

“Of…of course I’m surprised.”

“Because they were stolen?”

“Why, yes…”

“Then again, perhaps it is something else. Perhaps the pearls weren’t stolen at all and you are surprised because the man you gave them to must have returned to England, and yet he has not contacted you.”

Her mind refused to function. What was he saying? What on earth was he talking about? “I don’t…don’t know what you mean.”

“So he
has
contacted you.”

“No!” He was talking about Robert. Dear God, he had somehow discovered her role in Robert’s escape and come up with some wild reasoning that wasn’t the least bit true. Her pulse jerked into an even faster pace. “I—I can only imagine what you must be thinking, but it isn’t the way it seems.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I admit I gave Robert the necklace, but only because he had no one else to help him.”

“Robert? That is how you address him? You and he must be very familiar, indeed.”

“No! Oh, God…” She turned away from his rigid stance, fighting back tears, desperately trying to think of what to say. “How…how long have you known?”

“Cord brought me the pearls several weeks ago.” He slipped them back into the pouch and set the pouch down on the dresser. “Your friend
Robert
had borrowed against them through a moneylender in Liverpool. The dealer thought Cord might be interested in buying them.”

She shook her head. “You were acting so strangely…. I knew something was wrong, but—”

His fist slammed down on the dresser. “What the bloody hell is going on between you and this man, Robert McCabe?”

“Nothing is going on! Robert is…Robert is Caro’s friend, not mine. She is desperately in love with him. Robert was in trouble and badly in need of money. Caro had no funds and we were sailing for England that day. I—I couldn’t think of any other way to help him so I gave him the pearls.”

For several seconds, Rafe just stared at her. He clamped down hard on his jaw, working to rein in his temper. “If you needed help, why didn’t you come to me?”

“I wanted to. But we had only been married a few hours. I was afraid of what you would say, of what might happen to Robert.”

She looked up at him, an awful thought striking. “What have you done to him?”

The edge of his mouth barely curved. “Your friend, McCabe, is on his way to Newgate prison.”

The news hit her so hard her knees went weak. “Dear God…”

Rafe’s hand shot out to steady her. “Damnation!” Eas
ing her down on a nearby chair, he walked over to the porcelain pitcher and poured her a glass of water, then returned and pressed it into her hand. She dutifully took a sip, then set the glass down on the table with a trembling hand.

“I—I realize you have no reason to believe me, but I am telling you the truth.”

“As you should have done before,” Rafe said simply.

She blinked. “You…you believe me?”

“I am doing my best. Now, start at the beginning. I expect the truth this time and nothing less, and don’t leave anything out.”

Dani’s heart constricted. Rafael was listening. She had been so sure he would not. She took a steadying breath and prayed she could find the right words.

“It all started in Philadelphia.” Frightened for Robert and worried about Caro, she told Rafe how her friend had introduced her to Robert at Aunt Flora’s house. She described the sort of man Caro believed Robert to be, how she had come to that same conclusion, and how Caro had fallen in love with him.

“Is McCabe his real name?”

She hesitated an instant too long.

“Dammit, Dani, when are you going to realize that I am your friend, not your enemy?”

Danielle took a breath. “I’m sorry. His name is McKay, not McCabe. But if the authorities discover Robert’s true identity, they will hang him. Losing him would break Caro’s heart.”

“For God’s sake, what has the fellow done?”

“That is the crux of the matter. He is accused of murder, but he is innocent. Since I know how it feels to be accused of a crime I didn’t commit, I simply had to help him.”

Rafe studied her for several long moments. Then he amazed her by reaching out and drawing her into his arms. “You are a handful, duchess.”

Dani’s throat closed up. Held snuggly against him, she felt a mixture of worry and relief.

“I’ll speak to your friend Robert. I’ll do what I can to help him.”

The tightness swelled until her throat ached painfully. Rafe would help her, help Robert. “Thank you.”

“In return, I want your promise that from this day forward you will never lie to me again.”

She nodded. She hadn’t wanted to lie to him in the first place. And now, each day, she trusted him a little more.

“Say it. I want your word.”

“I promise.” But with the vow came the sharp sting of tears. By omitting the truth of her dark secret she was lying to him again. If he ever found out how she had duped him—dear God, Dani didn’t know if she would be able to bear it.

Rafe made his way through the musty, dank corridors of Newgate prison. Water dripped from the rough-hewn planks above his head, and slick moss covered the cold stone walls. The smell of unwashed bodies and human waste filled his nostrils, and one of the prisoners whimpered pitifully somewhere down the long, dimly lit hall.

“This way, Yer Grace.” A fat, foul-smelling guard led him to a cell at the rear of the prison. The man shoved an iron key into the lock. The rusty mechanism screeched, then the heavy wooden door swung open and the guard stepped out of the way so that Rafe could walk into the cell.

“Just call out when yer ready to leave.”

“Thank you.” He hoped it wouldn’t be long.

The guard’s footfalls echoed down the corridor, and Rafe turned his attention to the man sitting in the wet straw on the floor, leaning back against the wall. In the faint lantern light outside the cell, Rafe couldn’t tell exactly what he looked like, but his jacket and shirt were torn and covered with dirt and dried blood.

“Who are you?” the prisoner asked, straightening a little but not getting up from where he sat.

“Sheffield. I believe you know the name.”

He struggled then, tried to get up, and Rafe rested a hand on his shoulder, urging him to remain where he was. “Take it easy. You don’t look very well. How badly are you injured?”

“Bastards beat the bloody hell out of me.”

“The guard said you resisted arrest.”

McKay made no reply.

“I spoke to my wife about you. The duchess says you’re not a thief. She says she gave you the necklace.” Rafe read the man’s surprise in the faint tightening of the muscles across his shoulders.

“You seem surprised.”

“I wasn’t sure what the lady would say.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately for you that is not what she said the day we sailed for home.”

“I hope you understand she was only trying to help me. She’s an incredible woman, your wife.”

“Yes, she is. What about Caroline Loon?”

The prisoner’s head fell back against the wall. “I didn’t mention her because I didn’t want to get her into trouble.”

Moving closer to where the man leaned against the wall,
Rafe crouched next to him in the dirty straw. He was close enough now to see the swollen eye and the bruises on McKay’s face.

“Tell me the rest of it. Tell me about the murder you are accused of and why I should believe, as my wife and your friend Miss Loon do, that you are innocent of the crime.”

McKay hesitated only a moment, then quietly began to tell his tale. It was half an hour later that Rafe called out for the guard to open the cell.

“Get some rest, McKay. I’ll arrange for your release as quickly as I can. We need to do this quietly. So far no one knows who you really are and we need to keep it that way. It may take a few days. I’ll leave a little money with the guards should you need anything and send a carriage to pick you up.”