The Toplofty Lord Thorpe (10 page)

 

L
UCY CLOSED HER CHAMBER
door behind her and leaned against it, struggling for breath. He had kissed her! Really kissed her! And then, when that dratted Dexter had shown such poor timing as to interrupt them, he had offered to fight a duel over her! If she were any more full of happiness, she believed she would surely burst.

She wanted to dance! She wanted to go to the win
dow and throw back the sash to sing her joy out into the night. She wanted to wake her aunt and hug her with happiness! She looked up at the ceiling and breathed, “Thank you, God.
Oh, thank you!
”

Just then a sound coming from her bed distracted her and she looked over to see Bartholomew sitting smack in the middle of her turned-down spread. She would hug Bartholomew! She had to hug somebody or she would simply expire on the spot.

“Come here to me, you adorable creature,” she crooned, skipping over to the bed. But what she saw spread out around the monkey stopped her. There was her Aunt Rachel's garnet necklace. And beside it lay Parker's penknife, Dexter's snuffbox, Julian's quizzing glass, and other small objects whose owners must be wondering where they had disappeared to so completely. A silver lobster fork, a small silver salt cellar, a scattering of coins, even a small, roundish lump of metal she believed to be a bit of shot for a fowling piece.

“Oh, what have you done, you naughty thing?” she asked, scooping up the necklace.

Bartholomew, who had been sitting there beaming proudly at his new mistress, cocked his head to one side at the condemning tone in her voice, clearly puzzled. Why didn't she praise him, pat his capped head, and tell him what a good boy he was? And his treat—where was the treat he always got for bringing pretty, shiny things? He rolled onto his side and looked up at her imploringly, hoping that at the least she would deign to scratch his hairy belly.

“Why, you think you've done something wonderful, don't you?” Lucy said, the truth of the matter slowly dawning on her. “Mr. Romano told me you did tricks. Why, that horrid old man! He's trained you as a thief. Oh, Bartholomew, you poor baby!” She sat down on the bed and gathered the monkey into her arms, wrapping his long arms around her neck. “Forgive me for scolding you, pet, it isn't your fault.”

Bartholomew chattered delightedly in monkey language, nibbling at her ear and causing her to giggle. “But we mustn't let the earl catch wind of your little talent, must we, for I don't think he'll find it in the least amusing.”

Talking about the earl led instantly to thinking about the man, and Lucy made short work of gathering Bartholomew's ill-gotten booty into a drawer and crawling into bed in order to spend the next few moments dreaming of the bliss she had discovered in his arms. Then she fell into a deep, untroubled sleep, a small smile remaining on her features for the remainder of the short night.

 

“W
ILL YOU SIT STILL
!” Deirdre snapped, trying without much success to clasp the single strand of pearls around her mistress's neck. “You've been fidgeting around like you've got a burr in your britches all day long. Now, I've put it before me to fix this here necklace, and that's just what I'm goin' to do.”

Lucy subsided meekly on the chair placed before her dressing table. “Yes, Deirdre,” she said meekly,
scarcely hiding her amusement at the sight reflected in the mirror—which depicted the young maid struggling for all her might to focus her eyes on the small gold clasp. “Far be it from me to be the cause of striking you cross-eyed. Dexter Rutherford might stop chasing after you, and it would all be my fault, wouldn't it?”

Deirdre sniffed. “Him! Such a pest of a man. He's like my father said—only a dog, and will go a part of the road with everyone. Don't think he'll be chasing after my heels, for I'm wise to the likes of him. A mouth full of blarney and enough brass to shame a field full of tinkers.”

“Then you're not flattered by his attentions?” Lucy asked, watching her maid's reflection closely.

“Soft words butter no parsnips, Miss Lucy, and stolen kisses only lead to trouble with the likes of him. I'll not let my head be turned. Not like some I could mention,” she ended, finally managing to close the necklace and then standing back to admire her work. “There, all right and tight.”

Lucy studied herself in the mirror and liked what she saw. Her hair seemed to curl more becomingly, her eyes to shine more brightly, and her skin seemed to have taken on a new glow. “You're wrong, you know,” she said, rising to her feet and dropping a kiss on her maid's rosy cheek. “Julian is nothing like his cousin. We're in love,” she sighed breathlessly, earning herself another sniff.

“Show me the notice in the papers—then talk to me of love,” Deirdre said saucily, never one to be
lieve anything unless she could see it for herself. “Your aunt will read it to me if I ask her. I might believe it then, but not before.”

“I don't know why I put up with you, Deirdre,” Lucy sighed wearily, moving to the long mirror to check her hem.

“I put up with you, don't I?” the maid quipped, lowering a gossamer-thin shawl around her mistress's shoulders. Her hands lingered, giving Lucy a quick hug. “I'll keep your secret, Miss Lucy, but you'll have to hide your face away from Miss Rachel if you mean to keep it from her. If that shrewd one catches a hint of what you were about last night, she'll have you packed and on your way to your cousin Jennie before you have time to take a breath, and no mistake. Now, be gone with you, the gong rang for you long since and m'dinner's getting cold in the servants' hall.”

“Deirdre,” Lucy called back over her shoulder as she stopped at the door bordering on the hallway. “Have I ever told you that I consider you to be my best, my very best friend?”

Her Irish brogue curling around her suddenly shy tongue, Deirdre gave up the fight. “Go to him now, and may God's fresh blessings be about you.” She was thrilled for her mistress, happy to see her so happy, but she could not fight the feeling that Lucy's long struggle to win his lordship's heart was not to be judged settled on the strength of one stolen kiss in the moonlight. And there was still the little matter of
his being accused of that terrible thing with that local girl.

No, Deirdre wasn't entirely easy in her conscience about keeping this latest development from Rachel Gladwin. All she could do was hope that the woman would see what was so plainly before her eyes and trust that resourceful lady to keep a cool head. And Deirdre did like the earl. He seemed a good sort, even if he was such a mass of grandeur. Miss Lucy loved him, so he couldn't really be a bad man.

So why, she thought, straightening her carroty locks before the mirror, why did she feel as if she had just sent off a goose to dine in the fox's den?

K
EEPING
D
EIRDRE'S WARNING
in mind, Lucy tried her best not to let her eyes linger too long on Lord Thorpe through dinner, so she was very surprised when, after leaving the gentlemen to their port, Rachel took her to task the moment they were alone together in the drawing room.

“You've been avoiding me all day,” she began just as they sat down. “I know Julian and Dexter rode out without you to question the villagers and look for clues, but that was no reason for you to spend the entire day mooning in the garden. Not that you rose until noon,” she added, reaching for her embroidery hoop.

“I was thinking about Julian's problems,” Lucy improvised, knowing that she was being at least halfway honest. She had been thinking about Julian—about the life they would have, the children they would share, the love they would cherish.

Rachel decided she was too weary to play verbal games with her niece. She had known all day that Lucy was avoiding her for some reason, and after seeing Julian's eyes light up like beacons when her niece entered the room before dinner, she knew she had found an answer. “Just what did you do, Lucy,
hide in his chamber last night and catch him unawares?”

“I did no such thing!” Lucy cried hotly. “You and Deirdre should form a club, Aunt; one dedicated to believing everything bad about me that could possibly be imagined. Really, if Papa could hear how you think of me, he would be after you with a stick.”

Rachel looked at her shrewdly, her hope of shocking Lucy into blurting out the truth having failed, and turned her concentration onto another vexing subject. “Your papa,” she said disgustedly. “That's another bone to chew on entirely. I asked for his help in this matter, but did he so much as answer my letter? No, he did not. How he could abandon his only daughter this way is totally beyond my comprehension. Lucy,” she ended, sighing, “I think it is time we returned to London. Lord Thorpe has regained his equilibrium. He doesn't need us anymore.”

Lucy blanched, and her hands began to shake. Her Aunt Rachel didn't put her foot down often, but when she did she was nearly immovable. “But we can't!” she said, aghast. “Not now, not just as Julian has begun to care!”

“Has he really?” Rachel drawled, and Lucy hopped to her feet indignantly, knowing her aunt had bested her yet again.

“You are wasted bear-leading me, dearest,” she told Rachel, pointing a finger at her. “You could spy for Wellington and tie Napoleon up in little knots like those you're making in that frame.”

Rachel just smiled. “Sit down, pet,” she said plac
idly. “You know I wouldn't purposely do anything to hurt you. But don't shut me out, please, for I am too old for guessing games. Now, tell me everything, for I could see Julian fairly drooling over you ever since you came down, and I'm dying to know how you finally managed it.”

Lucy took pity on the older woman, acknowledging that since she had been such a helpful ally during the past three years of the chase, she deserved to hear all about the glory of the capture. “Not that he has declared himself or anything, you understand,” Lucy ended, leaning back against the cushions and sighing happily, “but if he challenged Dexter to a duel I cannot believe he is merely trifling with my affections, can you?”

Rachel closed her eyes, trying to picture Julian Rutherford squaring off to shoot a hole in his cousin, and shook her head. “He must have felt he had been pushed to the limits. Lucy, you are right—we cannot leave now. But do try to keep some distance from his lordship until this madman is found. Julian shall need all his wits about him until then, and from the dreamy-eyed looks he was directing your way earlier, it's clear to see he won't be worth a bent copper if you insist on occupying all his attentions.”

A slight noise at the doorway announced the arrival of the three gentlemen. Looking up at the earl as he led the way into the room, Lucy whispered, “Isn't he adorable, Aunt Rachel?”—a description that had the older woman biting her lip as she tried to restrain her mirth.

“Ladies,” Julian said, bowing, “I hope we may have some good news for you this evening, Parker, this will be news to you also.”

The secretary hastened to a chair and turned his attention to his cousin-employer. “You have discovered a clue?” he asked eagerly.

Dexter eyed his cousin with disdain. “Oh, stop slobbering, Parker. This nauseating show of loyalty is beginning to wear a bit thin. Relax, nobody believes you to be guilty.”

“Why not?” Parker asked, clearly affronted. “I'm innocent, of course, but I fail to see why I should be dismissed by the likes of you. And who put you in charge anyway?”

“The nursery brats are at it again,” Lucy remarked to her aunt under her breath. “And look at Julian—why, I rather think he enjoys all this squabbling.”

“If I might continue?” the earl broke in, walking over to his favorite spot in front of the fireplace. “As you undoubtedly know, Dexter and I rode out today—”

“I would have gone, if only you had asked me,” Parker broke in peevishly, thrusting out his thin bottom lip.

“Of course you would have, Mr. Rutherford,” Rachel agreed placatingly. “But then, we all know how invaluable you are to us here, don't we?”

“I think I'm going to be sick.” Dexter sneered, lifting a glass of port to his lips.

“Dexter!” Julian said icily.

“Yes, coz?”

“Stow it.”

Dexter tipped his cousin an imaginary hat. “Your wish is my command, my lord.”

“If I believed that, I might be a happier man,” the earl observed idly, before getting back to the subject at hand. “As I was saying before that little outburst, Dexter and I rode out today—”

“We took his curricle,” his cousin broke in breezily. “I knew I'd never last out the day in the saddle. You should see Julian's new pair. Bang up to the mark, let me tell you. Gray, they are, and—”

“Dexter!”

The young dandy broke off immediately and looked at Rachel. “Yes, ma'am?” he asked meekly, recognizing command when he heard it.

“You will sit down and speak only when you are spoken to. Is that clear?” Rachel ordered imperatively, and then waited until Dexter had meekly complied before smiling up at Thorpe and saying with deceptive compliance, “You may continue, Julian.”

Lucy, who had been biting down hard on her knuckles to keep from laughing aloud, looked at Julian and saw that he too was holding in his amusement with great difficulty. It was wonderful to share this lighthearted moment with him, and when he lowered one long eyelid in a wink she nearly expired with happiness, only barely controlling the urge to spring up and run into his arms after seeing the startled look on Parker's pale face. He was such a prude, was Parker, but she wouldn't want to injure his delicate sen
sibilities, so she contented herself by giving Julian a little wink of her own.

“Something in your eye, Cousin Julian?” Parker asked solicitously, a question so ripe for comment that Dexter, who had great respect for any woman who could sound so very much like his mama, was forced to jump up and dash from the room before he was tempted to comment.

Finally, with Lucy still having recourse to her handkerchief to dab at the tears of laughter in the corners of her eyes, Julian was allowed to continue without interruption. He told them of his foray into the village and how they had spoken to many locals who swore they had seen Susan Anscom abroad late at night, seemingly on her way home from some secret assignation.

“We visited the deserted cottage where these clandestine meetings were believed to have taken place, but could turn up nothing of any moment. But I don't think we've merely reached another dead end. If Miss Anscom was seen, it is possible the murderer was as well. I've let it be known that I will reward handsomely anyone who can give me a description of her companion.”

“Oh, that's wonderful news!” Lucy exclaimed, clapping her hands. “But you should try going into the village at night, when the men usually go to the inns to have their drinks. If anyone had seen Miss Anscom and her accomplice together, it would be one of these men, don't you think?”

A visit to a common taproom was not high on the
earl's list of favored pastimes, and this was evident in his slight shudder of distaste. “I'm sure the reward will bring someone to us,” was his hopeful alternative to rubbing shoulders with a league of bosky farmers on a spree.

Lucy tried to hide her disappointment. Julian was making great strides, but she would have to remember that nothing really lasting happened in a hurry. She would speak to Dexter; surely he wouldn't be all that averse to a night on the town—or village.

Conversation became general once Julian's news had been discussed for a few more minutes, and Rachel was just about to propose a game of whist when Raleigh came into the room, cleared his throat, and announced: “Lord Tristan Rule, m'lord.”

“Cousin Tristan!” Lucy squealed, jumping to her feet and running toward the doorway, her arms out-flung, and launched herself high into the hearty embrace of the man who strode purposefully into the room. “Oh, Tristan, how very good it is to see you!”

“I don't believe it,” Rachel muttered incredulously. “Hale wouldn't do this to me.”

Julian watched the scene through narrowed eyes. Tristan Rule, he mused, struggling to remember where he had heard that name before. He looked at the man again, still whirling his Lucy about in a circle like some Viking about to carry off his captive. Baron Tristan Rule, of course! What did they call him? Ruthless Rule—that was it. He was Lucy's cousin? This unnaturally tall, black-haired, black-eyed devil was related to his sweet, warmhearted Lucy? His teeth
clenched together tightly. How closely were they related? It had better be damned close, he told himself silently, or Tristan Rule would soon be Lucy's
late
cousin!

Lucy finally scrambled out of Tristan's embrace, standing back to have a good look at him. It had been over a year, a span of time Tristan had spent doing whatever it was he did for some branch of the government. Lucy had always secretly thought that he was a spy, what with his penchant for black clothing and his noncommittal answers to her many probing questions about his life. “Oh, Tris, it's wonderful to have you here. Did you hear about Jennie's marriage? She lives not more than twenty miles from here. Have you been to visit her? Is that how you knew where to find me? Oh, Tris, do come and sit down. Aunt Rachel is with me—I know she'll wish to say hello.”

“Imp,” the man named Tristan said in his low, husky voice, “if you will but give me a moment to breathe, I will introduce myself to your host.” Walking over to Julian, he extended one hard, tanned hand. “My lord Thorpe,” he said formally and with a hint of steel in his voice. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Tristan Rule, Lucy's cousin. Sir Hale Gladwin has asked me to represent him here and assure him that Lucy is not in any danger. I have made certain inquiries in London, sir, and I have disregarded everything, knowing that Lucy does not place her trust lightly. Please consider me entirely at your service.”

“But…but I don't know you,” Julian stammered,
unable to believe that this stranger would trust him when his acquaintances had not.

“You're refusing my help?” Rule asked, arching one finely sculptured black brow.

Julian shook his head and smiled at the younger man. “Sir, I may be many things, but I have never thought myself to be stupid. I accept your help with thanks.”

Lucy released a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Going over to link a hand through each of their arms, she smiled at her aunt. “Now I know everything will be just fine. Wasn't Papa resourceful to have thought of Tristan, Aunt Rachel? How glad I am that you took it upon yourself to write to him.”

Rachel Gladwin smiled weakly and wished it were humanly possible for a person to deliver a firm kick to her own backside.

 

D
EXTER WAS OVER THE MOON
with excitement. Tristan Rule! Ruthless Rule! At Hillcrest! Within moments of hearing the news, Dexter had burst into the drawing room, eager to see his idol in the flesh. Everyone knew about the baron, and whispered of his exploits, but seeing him in the flesh—or, he amended eagerly, in his famous black and white that was all he ever wore—was heady stuff indeed. It was said the man had no heart; that if you pinked him, he would not bleed. He was a paid assassin, recruited by the War Office, Dexter had heard, and his single-minded determination was legendary.

To hear that he had come to clear Julian raised his
cousin's standing a notch or two in Dexter's eyes. Julian must be innocent if Ruthless Rule had taken his part. And he, Dexter Rutherford, was to have a front-row seat to watch the man in action. Oh, how he hoped there would be swordplay, for his friend Bertie Sandover had said that Rule was wicked with a blade.

Parker was not quite so impressed. To him, Rule looked to be a bit too complete to be believed. His dark good looks were too perfect, his perfectly cut black clothing covered a too-well-put-together body. Parker studied the man for more than half an hour and decided that rumors about the man's achievements had been greatly exaggerated. Besides, no one was ever going to solve the puzzle of who was framing his cousin. The plot had been built too well for any amount of amateur sleuthing to topple it. All that was going on now was that a bunch of strangers were making themselves comfortable in his lordship's house, eating his food, drinking his wine, and generally making nuisances of themselves. And that dratted monkey—why, just today he had been forced to call someone to carry the beast from his room, only to find that it had stolen his stickpin with the small diamond set in its center.

Yet, stranger things had happened. Suppose one of these idiots stumbled onto a real clue? Julian seemed to think they were onto something, and Parker didn't lump the earl into the same pot as he did the others. And then there was Lucy Gladwin. She and Julian had been acting very strangely—almost as if they
were in love or something. Parker didn't like that thought any more than he had liked anything that had happened ever since the scandal first broke.