The Love Affair of an English Lord (29 page)

“Good night, Lord St. John,” Heath said, his pleasant voice underlaid with steel. “A shame we had not met under more . . . appropriate circumstances.”

Chloe drummed her fingertips on the sill as Justin made a hasty escape, stammering apologies with each step. So began her restricted life again.

“Juliet,” Heath called up with a grin, “I suggest you get some sleep before our journey tomorrow.”

 

Chloe woke up in the middle of the night and gazed around the room. All her belongings had been packed into her trunks, with the exception of her journal, which she would not allow anyone to touch, and her corset.

She had bequeathed the scandalous garment to her cousin Pamela.

She lit a candle and opened the journal to the page marked with a red ribbon on which she had copied Brandon's partial letter. In the past few days she had been unable to concentrate on it, despite the fact that she had come close to breaking the code he had used.

Suddenly, in the stillness, without even trying, inspiration came. The words were clear, horribly so. She took out her pen and slowly began the translation.

. . . and so in closing I have enough faith that you will do what must be done. Pray God we will not be dead before this finds you. In this land of brutal beauty death comes as swiftly as a shadow. In any event, I trust that your cunning will save you, for he means to kill you and I do not know when or by what means.

Use the information revealed above.

Brandon

Chloe closed the book, her throat aching. She could hear Brandon's voice. She could feel his spirit as intensely as she had in life.

“A warning, Brandon,” she whispered. “I'm afraid it came too late.”

The following morning she awakened early and dressed, leaving the room with the copied letter in her hand. She found Heath in the parlor, reading a book on Egyptian artifacts.

“This is a copy of a partial letter found in Brandon's belongings. Dominic has the original, encoded, in his possession.”

Heath frowned as he scanned the paper. “You did this?”

“Yes.”

“Does Dominic know what it says?”

Chloe shook her head. “I think we should show it to him before we leave.”

“I shall send this to him right away.” He looked up at her. “By messenger, Chloe.”

“Tyrant.” She watched as he folded the paper and put it into his pocket. “What do you think?”

“I would like to see the rest of it before I make a judgment.”

Chapter 27

Dominic had risen early the next day to write some desperately overdue letters to his solicitors and personal contacts in London. Edgar had already run through a great deal of Dominic's money, ordering furnishings for what he assumed would be his new home and for his existing sugar plantation in Antigua, as well as his holdings in India. Dominic's secretary would have on his hands a hell of a mess to untangle.

Business affairs were actually the last thing he cared about. After breakfast and a shave, he intended to go straight to Dewhurst Manor to visit Chloe, and not by climbing in her window either. He would present himself formally on her doorstep. He had hoped to see her last night, but a parade of well-wishers had descended on him, and he had been obliged to welcome them.

He hoped Chloe was not planning a grand wedding. He was done with waiting for what he wanted, and what he wanted was her as his wife. Convincing her family of his credibility was another matter.

He put down his pen as his footman appeared at the office door. “I sent the message to Dewhurst Manor as you requested, my lord, but Sir Humphrey said he regrets the young lady is gone.”

Dominic came out of his chair, his heavy eyebrows knitting into a frown. “Gone? As in gone to the village? Gone for a walk?”

“She's apparently been taken to London, my lord.”

“London? Did she leave word for me?”

“Not that I know. But her brother did, and I have been instructed to give this to you.” He handed Dominic a sealed letter. “Shall I wait to send a reply?”

“To London? No. Go, please.”

He opened the note, his instincts preparing him for bad news.

Dominic,

The last time I saw you, or thought I saw you, was at your funeral. While I congratulate you on your resurrection, I condemn your seduction of my sister. Let us meet again, on my turf and on
my
terms.

By the way, I am enclosing the partial letter from Brandon which my sister has decoded. What an industrious pair you and she have been in uneventful Chistlebury.

I trust there are no more surprises in store for any of us.

H

With a rueful smile Dominic unfolded the enclosed letter, the translation of Brandon Boscastle's code, and read it. It was an unmistakable warning, and he could not help wondering whether it had been meant for Samuel, himself, or someone else.

Presumably, with Edgar dead, it no longer mattered. In any event, Dominic had a more pressing problem on his mind—an unplanned trip to London to face his final judgment.

 

He was surprised to find himself slipping back so easily into the role of gentleman. There was comfort in the rituals and traditions of his old life, and knowing the order of things. In fact, he rather looked forward to the whole rigmarole of ton society and its frivolities. Temporarily, that is. He would always remain a rebel at heart, a private man who preferred the companionship of a few true friends to an overcrowded party. He decided he should be grateful that the most fashionable set had not yet learned he was alive.

Still, for the present, here in London, it was time to put his aristocratic pretensions to the test, as rusty as they might be. He'd never had to prove himself to an entire family before, and what an intimidating family to have to impress. He had no idea how he would explain his brief sojourn in hell without sounding insane, and how Chloe had helped him escape. Her brothers deserved the truth, would demand it of him, and he did not intend to lie.

He only hoped he could persuade the Boscastle clan to focus on the future he had planned, and not on one violent chapter of his past.

He was led through the spacious corridors of the Marquess of Sedgecroft's Park Lane mansion and into a private study where, his back to the door, Grayson Boscastle sat behind an enormous rosewood desk. Grayson had always seemed to be a gregarious, charismatic man, whose rakish tendencies had apparently been subdued by marriage to Lady Jane Welsham.

Grayson raised his head the moment Dominic appeared at the door. There was nothing gregarious about his openly hostile expression, and the manner in which he uncoiled his large frame like a lion about to attack.

“Stratfield,” he said, his blue eyes as friendly as a frozen lake.

“How are you, Sedgecroft?”

“Considerably better than you, it seems.”

Ah, Dominic thought in grim amusement, as he glanced around the room at Heath and his fair-haired sister Emma strategically positioned in matching chairs that flanked Grayson's desk. This must be what Chloe meant about the Spanish Inquisition. He wondered when they would bring out the thumbscrews. Look at the three of them. A man would confess to seducing the pope under their basilisk scrutiny.

“Where are Drake and Devon?” he wondered aloud. “Stretching the rack to accommodate me or trying on executioners' robes?”

“They are standing guard outside the door,” Grayson replied in a crisp voice, his long fingers tapping the desktop.

“In case anyone tries to enter the torture chamber or I escape?”

“Both. Either.”

He found himself more at ease than he expected. Perhaps, after his recent ordeal, there was little left to rattle him. Perhaps he desired Chloe enough to walk through fire to win her. Or rather the firing squad, he thought wryly. The resentment toward him that smoldered in this room could burn down the whole of London.

“Lady Lyons, I believe,” he murmured, bowing to Emma. “It is my pleasure to meet you at last.” He turned to regard the elegantly poised black-haired man on his left. “And how are you, Heath?”

Grayson continued to glare at him, his firm mouth pursed as if he were refraining from making a rude remark. Emma, a very delicate woman with strawberry-blond hair, cleared her throat, fussed with her shawl, then skewered him with the most unsettling look he had ever received in his life. It was a combination of a schoolmistress's fondness and severe disappointment, as if a favored student had done something unspeakably wicked, and she did not quite know how to react.

And Heath, his friend, or was it
former
friend now, regarded him levelly, those Boscastle blue eyes cutting straight to his very soul.

Not much friendly warmth there today. Not murderous anger either, but rather an impartial assessment that left Dominic unsure of where he stood.

“Heath,” he said again, breaking the silence that was undoubtedly part of the torture process to wear down his defenses, “it has been a long time.”

Heath lifted his brow. “Rather too long it seems. You have been a busy boy since we conducted business at the warehouses on the wharves. Getting yourself killed, haunting your own house, not to mention your dramatic resurrection—”

“And ruining our sister,” Grayson interjected, clearly impatient with Heath's wry commentary.

Emma's polite voice offered another perspective. “And, lest we forget, bringing to justice the man who murdered Brandon and Samuel. They gave their lives trying to catch a traitor. Dominic risked his to finish the job.”

“Thank you, Emma,” Heath murmured. “It certainly portrays Dominic in a different aspect than that of a mere rake and villain, doesn't it? Dominic, I have explained the details of Brandon's murder as I understand them to the family. It was a little more challenging to explain the part that you and Chloe played in this affair.”

There was a deep hush. The long case clock in the corner on lion-clawed feet chimed the hour. Grayson looked away as if he were struggling to hold his feelings in check. Only Heath maintained his steady gaze on Dominic's face as if weighing the situation.

“You might have involved us,” Grayson muttered. “We would have helped.”

“Without involving Chloe,” Emma said in distress. “Goodness, what if something dreadful had happened to her? What if this mad Welshman had gotten his hands on her when she was alone?”

Dominic's eyes flashed with emotion. They had no idea how deeply their accusations wounded him. Of how he and Adrian had kept Chloe under their constant scrutiny, practically to the point of obsession. And if even once he had suspected that Edgar intended to harm her, Dominic would have revealed himself and ended his game. Fortunately, her own instincts had kept her from taking any rash chances. He owed her so much, loved her so deeply.

“Never would I have put Chloe in any danger. I did not set out to involve her in my plans. But once I met her . . .” He shrugged helplessly, and thought he saw a glimmer of amused sympathy in Heath's eyes. How could he possibly explain that he had been unable to resist Chloe from the start? In those early days of his recuperation, he had been half animal at heart, acting on only the most primal instincts of survival and revenge. Perhaps if he hadn't met Chloe, he would never have recovered from his pain and rage. It was unthinkable that she would be punished for her part in his redemption.

“I don't know how it happened, but I am prepared to accept full responsibility. Chloe did nothing wrong.”

Grayson snorted. “And snowflakes do not melt in the sun. Listen, Stratfield, Chloe was sent to Chistlebury to behave herself. Compared to the scandal in which the pair of you are embroiled, her original crime of being kissed behind a parked carriage looks laughably innocent.”

“Then perhaps it was an overreaction to send her into exile in the first place,” Heath said in a thoughtful voice.

At that moment the door opened. Grayson's wife, Jane, the Marchioness of Sedgecroft, took a few steps into the room. Her honey-colored hair was drawn back from her face in a frame of soft waves. “Is this a closed conspiracy, or can anyone join in?”

“Do come in, Jane,” Heath said, rising with Grayson to greet her.

She gave Dominic a warm smile, almost as if she sympathized with his position. “Be forewarned, all of you. I am taking Chloe's side.”

“Without knowing all the facts?” her husband challenged her.

“That's right,” Jane said, unruffled by his stern demeanor. “I am supporting her on general principle alone.” She directed a mock frown at the handsome marquess. “As well as on my past experience with the devious ways of its senior member. That would be you, Grayson.”

“My darling devil's advocate,” Grayson said, his own look for her warm and admiring.

“Someone has to bring a sense of fair play to this family,” Jane said.

“I always play fairly,” Heath said with a laugh.

Emma glanced over at him. “In both love and war?”

“I don't believe Heath has ever been in love,” Grayson said offhandedly. “Have you, Heath?”

Heath directed an enigmatic smile around the room. “My private affairs, or lack of them, are not the purpose of this meeting. Do have a chair, Dominic. There's no point in pretending we are going to do you physical harm.”

“Why not?” Grayson asked darkly.

Jane walked over to her husband's desk. “Because he loves Chloe, and she loves him, and I suspect their association has progressed beyond your control.” Her voice was gentle and more than a little understanding. “Am I correct, Dominic?”

He smiled at her. “Lady Sedgecroft, you have looked into my heart.”

Grayson made a face. “Well, it's damned lucky for you I didn't remove it. Sit down at the desk, Stratfield, and have a drink. My secretary will be here with the contract in an hour. Heath wishes to discuss some details regarding Sir Edgar when the two of you are alone.”

Dominic felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. Of course he did not want to sit. He wanted to see Chloe. He wanted to take her to his town house, so much smaller and less impressive than this mansion, but far more intimate for the purpose he had in mind. The anxiety he had felt for her throughout their ordeal had lessened, but had not gone away completely. He would always want to keep Chloe in his sight. Some of the fears he had developed would probably stay with him for the rest of his life.

There was no denying that his experience had changed him as a man. He could only hope it was for the better. Certainly having Chloe as his wife was a vast improvement over his past life. Where was she now? Had they punished her? Made her feel ashamed of what she had done? He could not bear the thought of being apart from her. She had to be hidden away in this house somewhere. He glanced up at the high plastered ceiling, knowing that if Chloe had her way, she would be listening to this conversation with her ear to the floor.

He smiled at the thought.

“Where is she?” he asked Grayson.

“Resting in her room,” the marquess answered.

“When may I see her?”

Grayson shrugged. “As soon as the contract is signed—I don't suppose I could stop either of you anyway.”