The Rake's Mistress (13 page)

Lucas could feel Justin watching him, weighing him up, deciding if he could be relied on or not. He squared his shoulders.

‘I should prefer to go,’ he said quietly.

Justin nodded. He turned to Tom Bradshaw. ‘Thank you, Bradshaw. You have done very well.’

‘Thank you, your Grace,’ Bradshaw said politely. He nodded to Lucas. ‘My lord…’ He backed hastily from the room when he saw the look on Lucas’s face.

Lucas stared at the door panels after Bradshaw had left and silence had descended on the room. The connections that he had been too tired, too preoccupied to make, were clicking into place in his head.

‘You knew where I was last night,’ he said slowly. ‘Bradshaw has already told you that I was with Miss Raleigh.’

Justin gave the ghost of a grin and waved the coffee pot at him. ‘May I offer you some more? I am sorry there is nothing stronger.’

Lucas shook his head impatiently. ‘Well?’

Justin shrugged. There was a twinkle in his eye. ‘You put the poor fellow in the devil of a position, Lucas. After all, you had set him on to watch Miss Raleigh’s premises in the first place, and then he finds himself spying on his employer’s amorous entanglements! He left directly to preserve discretion.’

Lucas sighed. ‘I did not even think of it.’

‘It seems that there were a number of matters that you did not give consideration to last night.’

Lucas flung himself down onto one of the hard dining chairs. ‘Miss Raleigh is no courtesan,’ he said.

Justin paused in the act of pouring himself another cup of coffee. ‘I never imagined for a moment that she was,’ he said mildly. ‘Indeed, your crisis of conscience this morning rather suggests that the reverse is true. I take it that you still wish to marry her?’

‘Yes, I do.’

Lucas waited in explosive silence for the Duke to suggest that an engraver’s niece was not a
seemly match for one of the Kestrels. Instead Justin merely said,

‘You still believe her to be innocent.’

‘Certainly.’ Lucas shifted on the seat. ‘Nothing that I have heard from Bradshaw this morning changes my opinion.’

He saw a flicker of expression cross Justin’s face and felt his temper tighten at the thought that it might be pity. His brother thought he had gone soft and lost his judgement. ‘I may be suffering the pangs of guilt,’ he said angrily, ‘but I assure you that my reasoning is still sound.’

Justin made a pacifying gesture. ‘I agree. My only concern is that you should not offer for Miss Raleigh out of a misplaced sense of chivalry. Something may be arranged.’

‘You mean you will pay her off, as though she was a harlot?’ Lucas was on his feet before he even knew he had moved. ‘I
told
you she was no courtesan—’

‘Hold your peace,’ Justin said, undisturbed. ‘I meant no such thing. I merely do not wish you to tie yourself to a loveless marriage through a sense of honour. It is not fair for a man to spend his life paying for one mistake.’

Lucas understood what he meant. ‘That is not why I am offering for Rebecca.’

Justin arched a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Then name your reasons.’

Lucas stared at his brother. It felt like a challenge to combat. In his mind were all of his own conflicting emotions; before him, Justin’s implacability.

‘I want her,’ he said. ‘I want to marry her.’

He saw Justin’s expression shift as though his brother had read something in his face that he had not intended to be there.

Justin nodded. ‘Then I wish you good fortune, Luc,’ he said quietly.

It was only when Lucas had gone out that Justin raised his cup in mocking tribute to the oil painting of the previous Duke, whose portrait hung above the fire.

‘So my little brother is in love at last, though he does not realise it,’ he mused. ‘Thank God you did not ruin everything for him, Father, with your endless infidelities.’ His face sobered as he put the cup down. ‘But of course Miss Raleigh may refuse him when she knows the truth. If she is half the woman I suspect her to be, I rather think she will.’

R
ebecca had been engraving for two hours when the sharp ache in her wrist reminded her that if she did not rest she would be unable to continue. With a sigh she laid down her engraving scribe and went into the scullery to make herself a pot of tea. Whilst the kettle sang on the hearth she leaned against the sink and thought about Lucas and the night before; of his hands on her body and his mouth on hers and the searing intimacy of sleeping with her body entwined in his. The room had filled with steam before she recalled herself to the present.

Back in the studio, the fire was already burning low, subdued by the wind that was drawing down the chimney. The sun had gone in and the room looked dark and cheerless. Rebecca went to fetch more candles. She had just lit two of them when the door banged and another blast of autumnal air swept into the workshop, blowing them out in a puff of smoke.

Rebecca swung round. Lucas was standing just inside the doorway, shaking the droplets of rain off his magnificent caped driving coat. Rebecca could not help herself. Her heart gave a huge leap of gladness and a smile burst from her that she had neither the means nor the will to control.

‘Good morning, Lucas—’

She broke off. Lucas had not returned her smile and now he bowed very slightly. In the dim light his face looked tense and unyielding.

‘Good morning, Rebecca.’ He sounded strained. Rebecca’s smile wavered slightly.

Lucas closed the door behind them with quiet deliberation.

A chill touched the top of Rebecca’s spine and crawled down her back. She frowned slightly, looking at him. There was something dreadfully wrong. She could read it in his face. The fear began to crystallize about her heart.

‘My lord?’ she said warily. She jumped as Lucas shot the bolt home and reached behind her, groping on the desk for her diamond engraving scribe. Her hand grasped open air. Lucas, seeing the gesture, put out a hand to stop her.

‘Do not be afraid. We need to talk, you and I, and I would prefer it to be uninterrupted.’

Rebecca searched his face, instinctively seeking reassurance, but there was none. His expression was as closed as a shuttered house. Rebecca felt
fear and sheer disbelief swamping her like a tidal wave. Last night this man had held her in his arms and made love to her with single-minded passion. Now he wore the face of a stranger. The change from that man to this was almost too great to comprehend.

‘I thought—’ She broke off. ‘Last night…’

She saw a bleakness come into Lucas’s face, colder than the snow on the winter streets.

‘Rebecca,’ he said again, taking her arm and guiding her towards the
chaise-longue
, ‘I need to speak with you.’

He spared neither of them. Rebecca listened in mounting disbelief and disillusion as he told the whole tale—that he was involved in a quest to discover and unmask a spy ring and the engraver who had been working for them, that he had set a man to watch her premises, that he had deliberately sought her out and set out to gain her confidence. She started to tremble. Her hands were so cold she could barely feel them. She wrapped her arms about herself, but it could not quell the shaking. The fearful discovery that Lucas had betrayed her from the very start cut to the very heart of her.

‘Last night…’ she said again. She stopped and cleared her throat, wanting to hide the worst of her pain from him. ‘You need not have taken your masquerade so far, my lord.’

Lucas put out a hand and she flinched away from him. She saw the hurt in his face and it lacerated her own pain. So he had some feelings for her after all, just not enough to have told her the truth from the start.

‘That was no pretence,’ he said, in a hard voice. ‘Rebecca, I care for you. I want to marry you.’

Rebecca stood up violently. Rage, fierce and primeval, stormed through her. ‘
Marry?
You wish to marry a woman you do not even
trust?
’

Lucas rubbed his brow with exasperation. ‘Rebecca, it is not that I do not trust you. I never believed you to be a part of the espionage.’

Rebecca made a sound of disgust. ‘Of course not! You merely chose to keep from me the fact that you were here with a secret purpose!’ Her voice broke and she swallowed hard. ‘Oh! You are detestable, Lord Lucas! I despise you!’

Lucas’s face was white and tense. ‘I understand that you are upset to know the truth, Rebecca—’

‘You have no notion how I feel!’ Rebecca said, as white as he. ‘How could you imagine that I would ever accept your proposal? I do believe that one of us is run mad here, and it is certainly not me!’

Lucas got to his feet. ‘What else could I do?’ he said. ‘If I had asked you to marry me first and then told you the truth, would I have stood a better chance?’

Rebecca gave him a look of contempt. ‘No. My response would be exactly the same as it is now. I will never marry you.’

Lucas drove his hands into his pockets. ‘You have no choice, Rebecca.’

Rebecca stared at him in outrage. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You have to marry me,’ Lucas enunciated, with great care. ‘I seduced you last night.’

‘Oh, do not be so ridiculous!’ Rebecca said, her temper soaring again. ‘I seduced
you!
I needed you last night.’ She squashed down the misery that threatened to swamp her as she remembered the way that she had turned to Lucas with unquestioning love and trust. ‘I wanted what happened,’ she finished starkly.

Lucas’s face was set hard. ‘Nevertheless, I took your virginity and you may be carrying my child. Under the circumstances I must insist that you marry me.’

‘I would as lief take poison!’ The words were out before Rebecca could prevent them. It felt as though some huge, destructive power was rampaging through her blood, turning all the pain to anger and cruelty. She took a deep shuddering breath and tried to regain her self-control.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said with constraint. ‘That was unnecessary. But I cannot marry you,
Lord Lucas. I will not let
your
belated sense of honour place
me
in a situation I do not want.’

Lucas came to her and took both her hands in his. ‘Rebecca, you responded to me last night,’ he said softly. ‘Would it really be so bad?’

Rebecca could not bear his touch, nor the treacherous part of her that whispered that in another life, another time, to marry Lucas would have been the height of her most tender dreams. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and make all well again. Except that it was too late; it had always been too late. She moved a little away, determined to take refuge in practicality and block out the pain.

‘Since it is information that you want from me, my lord,’ she said, ‘you may as well ask me now.’ She seated herself on the sofa and looked at him with cold expectancy. ‘Well?’

Lucas looked slightly bemused. ‘Rebecca—’

‘The questions, my lord,’ Rebecca repeated tonelessly. ‘You say that you are investigating a spy ring. In what way may I help you with your enquiries?’

She saw Lucas hesitate and for a moment her perfidious heart hoped that he would override her coldness and take her in his arms, murmur the words of love that surely should accompany a proposal of marriage, the words she had secretly longed to hear…

Instead he sat down slowly. ‘Are we not to speak of our marriage any more?’ he enquired, with studied politeness.

Rebecca shook her head. For a second the tears obscured her vision and she blinked them away fiercely. ‘I think it better not. You will ask whatever it is that you wish to know and then you will leave.’

Lucas paused on the edge of saying something, then appeared to change his mind. Rebecca’s heart shrivelled. So there was to be no declaration of love, no putting right of the wrong. Instead, Lucas put a hand inside his jacket and extracted a folded piece of parchment. He held it out to her.

‘I am here on the authority of the Foreign Secretary,’ he said. ‘Read it—please.’

Rebecca unfolded the paper, trying to keep her hands from shaking. It was short and to the point. The warrant gave the bearer permission to question any person appropriate about certain treasonable activities that were focussed on the villages of Midwinter in the County of Suffolk. She was to give full cooperation to the enquiry.

Rebecca read the name of Suffolk and almost fainted. The paper fell from her hand to the floor. She could hear a buzzing in her ears and put a hand to her forehead to try to ward off the dizziness that was washing over her. She heard Lucas move and felt his fingers cool against her cheek.

‘I will fetch you a glass of water,’ he said.

She wanted to tell him not to do so. She hated the thought that he had been in the studio before and knew where to find all the simple things—the pots and pans in the scullery, a beaker of water… It felt like the greatest intrusion now that she knew he had had another purpose for seeking her out. The fact that he knew so much about her and her life was almost as distressing as the fact that she had had the poor judgement to give herself body and soul to a man whom, it seemed, had betrayed her. She started to think about all the things she had confided in him, all the words she had spoken, all the intimate moments they had shared. It had seemed so precious. Now she felt sickened.

Lucas had returned within moments and pressed a cold beaker into her hand. She wanted to dash the contents in his face. She wanted to smash every item of glass she could lay her hands upon. Instead, she took a deep, steadying breath and accepted the water with a brief word of thanks, whilst she locked the anger and the hurt and the violation deep inside. She took a sip of the cool liquid and gave Lucas a look of defiance.

‘I know nothing about this, my lord.’

‘I did not believe that you did,’ Lucas said easily. ‘However, you will not object to answering a few questions?’

Rebecca shrugged ungraciously. ‘If you wish.’

‘Thank you.’ Lucas resumed his seat. He picked up the small package that he had brought with him and unwrapped it quickly. Rebecca’s eyes widened as she saw the contents. It was a small sherry glass, engraved with a picture of a half-moon.

Lucas was watching her closely. ‘You recognise it?’

‘Of course. It is a piece of my uncle’s work.’

Lucas leaned forward. ‘You are certain of that?’

Rebecca met his eyes. ‘Yes. His style is very distinctive.’ She could not read anything from his expression.

‘Do you know for whom the order was made?’

‘Not without checking the order books,’ Rebecca said.

Lucas nodded. ‘You have a client who is a major collector?’ he asked.

‘You know that I do.’ She did not have to make it easy for him. She saw his look of resigned amusement as he realised that fact.

‘What is his name?’

Rebecca frowned. ‘I believe he is called…Mr Johnson.’

Lucas raised his brows in patent disbelief. ‘Is that his real name?’

‘How should I know? I have never questioned otherwise.’ Rebecca gave him a faintly contemptuous look. ‘I have never queried that you are, in
fact, Lord Lucas Kestrel, although there are a great many other things that I could call you.’

Lucas inclined his head.
‘Touché
.’ He shifted. ‘So yesterday Mr Johnson’s manservant collected a commission from you?’

‘He did.’

‘And paid you two hundred guineas for your uncle’s work.’

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. ‘How did you know that, my lord?’

‘That is nothing to the purpose. Is it correct?’

‘It is.’

‘Why so much? Had you completed a very large piece of work for him?’

Rebecca set her jaw. ‘If you know how much he paid, then I would wager that you also know the package was of modest size.’

Lucas laughed and took a leaf from her book in the brevity of his response. ‘I did know that.’

‘Then why try to trick me?’ Rebecca asked sharply. ‘You know that the parcel was small, you know that I told you a set of six engraved glasses cost twenty guineas.’

‘And I know he paid you two hundred.’ Lucas was watching her with the intentness of a hawk. ‘Why should he give you so much money, Rebecca?’

‘Because he owed payment for three consignments of work,’ Rebecca said.

There was a silence, then Lucas nodded slowly. ‘I see.’

‘So simple an explanation.’

‘So it would seem.’ The lines around Lucas’s mouth deepened as he smiled and Rebecca’s wayward heart missed a beat. She was furious with herself. How was it possible to hate a man so much and yet long for his touch with a yearning that owed nothing to hatred? In the heat of the night she had loved this man. Now it was daylight and it was raining and she was still in love with this cold stranger who had misused her trust. She despised her own weakness.

‘Is that all, my lord?’ she said starchily.

‘No, it is barely the beginning.’ Lucas looked at her. ‘I should like to see details of all orders placed by Mr Johnson and all transactions bought and paid for.’

Rebecca stared. ‘That will take hours!’

‘You do have the information?’

‘Of course. It is in the account books, but—’

‘Yes?’

‘I am sorry, but I must ask why you require to see it.’

Lucas waved the document under her nose. ‘Johnson is known to consort with spies, Rebecca. They are using your uncle’s engravings as the cipher on which they base their coded letters to the enemy.’

Rebecca drew in a sharp breath. Her first reaction was one of relief. This was nothing to do with Daniel at all. She felt a little colour come into her cheeks.

Lucas was watching her closely. ‘You do not seem surprised.’

Rebecca suddenly realised her danger. In her relief for Daniel she had probably greeted the news with a calmness that made her appear guilty.

‘On the contrary,’ she snapped, ‘I am astounded.’

Lucas gave a short laugh. ‘A cunning plan, is it not?’

‘Very clever. But not original.’

‘How so?’

‘The Jacobites used engraved glasses to communicate their coded messages last century,’ Rebecca said. ‘The most famous case was that of the Bolingbroke crystal, which was engraved with symbols relating to a plan to overthrow the government. The glasses were passed between the members of the conspiracy as a means of making contact.’