The Wickedest Lord Alive (31 page)

Did he know it was true for her, also? That no matter what he did, she would go on loving him? But no, he was not thinking of that now.

“After he was gone, do you know what she said to me?” he demanded. “She thanked me, because she’d run up more debts to him, beyond what I’d managed to settle. But she also said it was a pity, for she’d never found a man with such a finely tuned notion of precisely how much pain she could take.”

Lizzie didn’t understand.

He laughed at her expression, but not in an unkind way. “I must have looked as shocked as you when she told me. Even with all of my newly acquired worldliness, I was wholly unfamiliar with those kinds of practices.”

Her lips parted, but it took her some moments to find her voice. “What practices?”

“Do you know, she laughed at me?” Xavier rasped. “I’d thought her delicate sensibilities damaged beyond repair by Bute’s cruelty. I’d pursued him with awful vengeance and I’d do it again for the scar he gave you. But there are some people who enjoy being whipped and beaten, Lizzie. I do not understand it. I do not partake in either the giving or the receiving of pain. My mother is one of those people. Which would be her business alone if she hadn’t dragged me into it. And by extension, you.”

“She laughed at you when you told her how you’d avenged her?” said Lizzie.

“Oh, God yes. She was so pleased with herself, you see. Even as young as I was, she could rarely deceive me. I simply did not yet comprehend the depths to which she would stoop.”

He took Lizzie’s hands. “And now she has reached her nadir. I have long suspected she plotted with my uncle to do away with me. But until now, I did not believe there was anyone else at risk besides me.”

He turned away from her. “God, what a fool I’ve been, Lizzie! By bringing you into this, I’ve put your life at risk.”

He turned back. “If you are pregnant with my child, you will be in danger.”

“But we are not wed, and she knows that.”

“She cannot take the risk. What if I persuade you to marry me, after all, and you carry my child? It could be a boy, a legitimate heir.”

Her hand immediately went to her belly. She wasn’t ready to tell him. It was early days. She couldn’t be sure. She managed to keep her mind on track. “But what does your mother have to gain by your uncle’s succession?”

“She will have made some sort of bargain with him,” he said grimly. “Poor fool. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. None of us ever did.”

He took her hands in a strong grip. “Believe me, if I’d any suspicion she’d come after you, I’d have left you in Little Thurston.”

She watched him for moments in silence before she pressed his hands. “What are you going to do about her?”

His jaw hardened. “If she were a man, I’d kill her in a fair fight.”

“But she’s your mother, Xavier. You can’t,” said Lizzie. “And I suspect she knows it.”

He grew alert then. “You believe me.”

Slowly, she nodded. She felt his pain as keenly as if it were her own. Moving closer, she put her palm to his chest. She couldn’t resist making that gesture of comfort. “You think me so innocent, Xavier. But I know more about people than you might realize. After all, I lived with my father for seventeen years, didn’t I?”

“Thank you,” he said huskily, bending his head to kiss her with a hunger and a fervor that knocked the breath from her body and fired her blood. “Thank you for believing me.”

“Of course I do.”

He put her from him gently. “I must go. Mr. Allbright told me you make your home with Miss Beauchamp, so I have explained the situation to Tom and asked him to guard you.”

“But I don’t need—”

He silenced her with a finger upon her lips. “Will you accept his protection for my sake? I cannot attend to the business of finding my mother and eliminating the threat she poses while I am out of my mind with worry over you.”

“I see. Well, in that case, I suppose I must agree,” said Lizzie. She did not doubt that with Clare’s help, she could escape Tom when and if she needed to.

Xavier took her hands and kissed them, one by one. “Thank you, Lizzie. I must go now, but I will come back for you when this is over.”

He drew her against him, adding in a rough tone she hadn’t heard, “And then I will make you my wife. Just try to deny me.”

She put her hand up to touch his lean cheek in a gesture that was affectionate yet tinged with pity. The poor, deluded man. Did he truly expect she would be a sweet little lamb and stay out of the way until the big bad ogress was defeated?

Lizzie Allbright was shrewder than Xavier believed. Stronger, too.

And while Xavier might have scruples where his mother was concerned, Lizzie most certainly did not.

*   *   *

Lizzie was nearly mad with waiting for something to happen. She’d written to Rosamund begging for news but for weeks, there’d been nothing, until Rosamund had reluctantly informed her of plans for an ambush at one of her brother’s parties. Until then, she was forced to fill her days as best she might, wondering and worrying about Xavier.

“Ribbons!” said Clare, making a determined beeline for the haberdasher’s. “Tom, we are hardly likely to be molested in amongst the bolts of cloth and dress pins. You may wait outside.”

Tom narrowed his eyes at her, but said, “Don’t be too long. And don’t buy too much, for if I know anything about it, I’ll be the one required to carry your parcels. I’m not a footman, you know.”

“Tom is turning into a dead bore,” complained Clare as the bell tinkled above them and they entered the shop. “And Little Thurston is just as bad. Do you think we shall ever return to Harcourt?”

“You won’t give Harcourt a thought once the season begins,” said Lizzie. “Unless Lord Lydgate has been haunting your dreams, hmm?”

“Not at all,” said Clare, wrinkling her nose. “Aunt Sadie was right. He did not have serious intentions toward me. Besides, Lord Lydgate has no political ambitions whatsoever, so he isn’t the right man for me.”

Lizzie pretended interest in a knot of ribbons in a hideous combination of yellow and purple velvet. How could she even begin to think of ribbons at a time like this?

“I hear there is a plan afoot,” she murmured. “Some sort of party at Lord Steyne’s Brighton villa in a fortnight.”

“Indeed?” said Clare. “Who is your informant?”

“Rosamund,” said Lizzie. “She says all the family will be there, so it sounds like it must be a respectable event. For once. They expect Lady Steyne to make her move then.”

Brighton was no great distance from Little Thurston. Lizzie did not mean to wait behind tamely while matters came to a head elsewhere. If only she did not feel so unwell all the time …

At least there were no strong scents to speak of in the haberdasher’s, she thought, as she waited for Clare to pay for her a stack of parcels she’d managed to accumulate in an amazingly short space of time.

Lost in her own thoughts, Lizzie hardly noticed when the bell jingled and a newcomer entered.

Expensive French scent accosted her first, sending her senses spinning. She looked up to see a very sophisticated young woman reach to draw two lengths of pink satin ribbon in slightly different shades from the wooden tree over which they hung.

“Is it that I may ask your opinion, mademoiselle?” said the woman in a heavy French accent. “This? Or this?” She held the ribbons against her gown.

A little startled at being accosted by a stranger, Lizzie tilted her head to judge.

Without waiting for her reply, the woman whispered, “I have a message for you from Lady Steyne.”

Lizzie’s heart bounded into her throat. She glanced back toward the counter, but Clare was fully occupied in conversation with Mrs. Trotter and did not notice the exchange. “Yes?”

“Milady is at the inn. This afternoon only. You are to come to her there. You must ask for Mrs. Jones.”

There was no time to consider the matter. Instinct told her she could not allow this opportunity to slip through her fingers. If she met with Lady Steyne, she might see a way to resolve the problem, once and for all.

Lizzie gave a quick nod to signify her agreement to the rendezvous. As the woman seemed to have nothing further to add, Lizzie hurried to join Clare.

“I need to get away this afternoon,” she murmured to Clare. “You know what to do.”

Clare stared at her hard, then scanned the shop, her gaze alighting upon the French woman who had moved on from pink ribbons to examine a bolt of pale blue dimity.

She nodded. “I’m ready.” Then she drew a long breath in and let it out again. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Lizzie.”

Now that the lie she’d told Xavier’s mother had become a reality, Lizzie hoped so, too.

*   *   *

The White Hart Inn was a half-timbered affair, with exposed beams in the interior, and a quantity of dark wood paneling and furniture that looked as if it had stood the test of centuries.

Mrs. Biggins, the innkeeper’s wife, showed her to the only private parlor on the first floor of the establishment. The stairs were narrow and uneven, and Lizzie briefly experienced a sensation of vertigo as she made her way up.

“In here, Miss Allbright,” said Mrs. Biggins. “Mind how you go.”

She had to duck slightly to avoid braining herself on the rough wooden beam that formed the door lintel.

The woman Lizzie thought of as Lady Steyne stood with her back to the door, but she whirled when Lizzie entered the room. “My dear girl,” she said, rustling forward. “Forgive me for not calling on you sooner. I am wretched that you have suffered so greatly at my hands.”

Lizzie wasn’t sure why she’d been summoned to Lady Steyne’s side today. She suspected Lady Steyne meant mischief, but what could she do to Lizzie here, in a public tavern, after all?

“It is something of a relief, actually,” said Lizzie. “I am pleased to return to Little Thurston and resume my quiet little existence. I might even look about me for a husband now that I am free.”

She couldn’t let Xavier’s mother know there was any hope for Xavier and Lizzie. Nor that they had enjoyed intimate relations so recently.

Lizzie forced a smile. “You are kind to come all this way to see me, but it is unnecessary. I shall pick up the threads of my life and pretend I never met Lord Steyne.”

Lady Steyne bit her lip, and tears sprang to her eyes. “My son hates me. And the rest of the Westruthers … Oh, I wish I had never gone to Harcourt. I should have known there’d be no hope of reconciliation.”

Her hands fluttered delicately, eloquent of distress. Lizzie marveled, watching this woman’s show of helpless despair, at what a consummate actress Lady Steyne was.

Well, Lizzie was no mean thespian herself. She rushed forward to take Lady Steyne’s hands in hers. “Oh, dear ma’am. I could weep for all that you have endured at their hands. When I heard you had been sent all the way to
Russia
!”

“No one can know the true depths of my suffering,” agreed Lady Steyne. “But come, let us sit and you must tell me all about what has befallen you since we last met. I barely spoke to you during my short stay at Harcourt.”

They sat and Lady Steyne busied herself at the tea urn, her movements precise and elegant, as if the tea-making procedure were a show she put on for entertainment. Lizzie wondered if anything about the woman was real.

Lady Steyne said, “You must tell me what you think of this blend, my dear. I always travel with my own tea chest, you know. The Russians like their tea sweet, but I prefer it unadulterated.”

Lizzie took her cup but did not taste it. The aroma was smoky and pungent, and she rather thought she’d be ill if she drank it. “You must have seen some wonderful things in your travels.”

Lady Steyne shrugged. “I was not in the frame of mind to enjoy any of it. England is my home. But you, my dear. You are not Lizzie Allbright.”

“I do not feel like Lady Alexandra any longer,” said Lizzie truthfully. “I lived here quite happily until Lord Steyne found me again.”

“You have not changed at all. I recognized you instantly,” said Lady Steyne. “But it did not seem to me to be my place to expose the pretense. I am trying, you see, to become reconciled with my son. It is not easy.”

She took up a plate. “Might I offer you another delicacy from my travels? It is pickled herring.”

The sharp smell of the fish made Lizzie reel. Blood drained from her face, and she swayed a little, spilling tea into the saucer beneath her cup.

“My dear, what is the matter?” Lady Steyne rescued the cup and set down the plate of herring. “Never say you are with child!”

“No. No, I am not with child. I simply feel unwell.”

“You do not need to be coy with me, Lizzie. Do you mind if I call you Lizzie?”

“I … No, but I’m not—”

“A child! Well, that is a blessing indeed, if only Xavier might be brought to acknowledge it,” said Lady Steyne. “Does he know?”

Lizzie, still dazed from the heat and that terrible smell, tried not to retch. She shook her head. “There is nothing to know,” she gasped out. “Please. I must have some air.”

Lady Steyne was on her feet. “Of course. I shall ring for the servant to open a window.”

“No, I must … Now. I must go. My apologies. Can’t think what has come over me.” Lizzie rose so quickly, she became a little dizzy. She had to clutch the armrest to steady herself.

“Here, let me help you,” said Lady Steyne. She gripped Lizzie’s elbow to steady her and moved with her solicitously to the doorway.

“You are white as a sheet, you poor child,” said Lady Steyne. “I will come down with you.”

“It’s quite all right,” said Lizzie. “I am well. Please don’t.”

“Nonsense, my dear.” Lady Steyne’s voice was a soft coo. “Let me help you.”

Cold fear smothered Lizzie like an avalanche. She wrenched her arm from Lady Steyne’s grip.

But a sharp shove between her shoulder blades made her lose her footing, and she tumbled headlong down the stairs.

Chapter Nineteen

The elegantly restrained masquerade went on all around Xavier as he stood in his book room, waiting.

This was the night. They’d all agreed no self-respecting assassin could resist such a trap.