Undesirable Liaison (32 page)

‘Come, Mr Theo,
let me help you up.’ This was the housekeeper, Mrs Brumby, taking a
hand. ‘Are you much hurt, sir?’

‘A raving
lunatic, that’s what he is!’

Catching the
complaint on Sheinton’s lips, Florence intervened. ‘For pity’s
sake, don’t say what you know must enrage him further.’

One of the
servants had brought a candle and she was now able to see Jerome
struggling against the men who held him. Flo tried for a calming
tone.

‘You have hurt
him enough. Let it go now.’ Without waiting for his response, she
shifted her attention to the faces around them. ‘There is a candle
burning on the floor below. Pray one of you go down and put it
out.’

Tutting,
Fewston pushed his way through and hurried down the stairs.
Florence saw the housekeeper assist the victim up the steps to the
safety of the floor above. He was evidently the worse for wear, for
he groaned, asking if there was a chair.

‘You can
release me in safety,’ came from Jerome in a more moderate tone. ‘I
won’t touch him again.’

As Flo turned
to him, she caught question in the faces of the two men who yet
held him. Did they look to her for direction? She had been handing
out instructions left and right. Someone must take control.

Glancing at
Jerome, she saw his attention directed upon his cousin, who had
retired to a chair by the outer wall, fussed over by Mrs Brumby.
Florence nodded at the valet and his assistant, and both released
their grip.

Jerome did not
notice. He shrugged his nightshirt into place—it having become
disarranged in the late fracas—and rubbed absently at his
knuckles.

Digmoor,
apparently realising his master’s state of undress, began looking
about for his dressing gown. Flo pointed down the stairs, and the
valet nodded and hurried thence.

His attention
caught by the movement, Jerome removed his gaze from his cousin and
looked round, seeking Florence. She was standing by the banister,
one hand gripping the rail, her eyes wide in the gloom. A sliver of
guilt attacked him.

‘Forgive me.
You should not have witnessed such a sight.’

A faint smile
crossed her lips, and he felt as if it caressed him. ‘I am relieved
I was at hand. And if we are to talk of sights…’

‘Don’t,’ he
begged, wincing. ‘Unforgivable folly.’

‘On both our
parts.’

He reached out,
stroking his fingers down her cheek. And then determination settled
in his breast.

‘We are not
done yet. I need a word with Theo.’

As he started
up the stairs, the footman lunged forward, ready with hands
outstretched to grab him. Jerome paused, holding up a hand.

‘No need,
Studley, I have done. But by all means come and stand guard.’

Florence let
both men go on up, and followed. Butler and valet were close behind
her, she found, Digmoor taking opportunity, the moment he arrived
in the gallery, to assist his master into his dressing gown.

‘Fetch more
candles, Fewston, if you please.’ Jerome looked around as the
butler hurried downstairs again. ‘And the rest of you may go.’

The servants
looked uncomfortable, glancing at each other. Flo spoke for
them.

‘I don’t think
they trust you not to attack him again, Jerome.’

Realising she
had used his name, it occurred to her with stunning force that the
whole affair was blown. What were any of them to think, finding the
three of them thus attired and their master locked in battle with
his heir? From Jerome’s heavy frown, she saw she was not the only
one to be struck with this notion. But the baffled look vanished as
he assumed his usual decisive authority.

‘Then if
someone must stay, let it be Digmoor. Will that content you?’

The footman
glanced to the valet, and received a decided nod. He and Mrs Brumby
shuffled off, casting back apprehensive looks until they
disappeared up the second staircase. Flo’s attention was recalled
by Jerome’s voice addressing his cousin, the hard note
pronounced.

‘Now, Theo. You
will oblige me by explaining yourself—and watch your mouth, if you
value your skin.’

By the light of
the candle that had been left on a side table near the chair in
which he sat, Flo saw Sheinton’s handsome face was already swelling
a trifle, and one hand was pressed to his side. He winced as he
spoke, his voice out of kilter. But the sullen note was
evident.

‘You’ll regret
this, coz.’ He threw up a hand as Jerome’s eye kindled. ‘But I’ll
admit I was a thought tactless. After all, you couldn’t know her
history.’

A clutch of
apprehension seized Florence, and she cut in sharply. ‘What do you
know of my history?’

‘The very
question I was about to put to him,’ came from Jerome, his voice
grim.

Theo’s usual
suavity was fast reasserting itself, he thought, for the fellow
positively simpered.

‘That’s the
part I hadn’t meant to tell you. Not yet awhile.’

‘Too late for
prevarication now, my young friend.’

There was
nothing friendly in the way Jerome said the words. Although Flo
took this in, she was far too involved in what the man might say to
be more than a thought wary of another fight breaking out.

Sheinton
glanced once at her, a searing look of disdain, and turned again to
his cousin.

‘Then let it be
said. Your Miss Petrie is not all she seems, I am sorry to
say.’

‘Indeed?’ was
all Jerome replied, and Flo at least recognised the dangerous note
even through the hurrying of her pulses. ‘How so?’

‘She calls
herself a companion, but the truth is less respectable.’ The
sneering look was again cast at Flo. ‘I dare say she thought she
could escape the past, but I had more regard for your welfare than
you did yourself, my dear Jerome, and—’

‘Pass over all
that, and get to the point,’ snapped Jerome, holding in his rising
temper with difficulty. ‘What is this past, in your
estimation?’

‘Oh, it isn’t a
guess, coz,’ uttered Theo, his glance returning. ‘I know it to be
true, for I took care to make enquiries.’

‘Of whom? And
by what authority?’

Ignoring the
latter question, his cousin gave a nonchalant shrug. To Jerome’s
satisfaction, it cost him, for he winced and felt at his side.

‘I might
protest at your heavy-handedness, my dear fellow, but let that
pass.’ He must have caught a flash of Jerome’s mood, for his pace
quickened. ‘I found out from Frizington where Miss Petrie had been
living, and the woman who kept the house—in Poland Street, if I
recall—was persuaded to furnish me with Miss Petrie’s prior
direction.’

‘Persuaded?’
uttered Flo, momentarily distressed for Mrs Halvergate.

Sheinton’s
glance barely grazed her. ‘I have a little experience in winning
over ladies of her ilk. It was an inexpensive exercise,
fortunately.’

‘Well, and
then?’ cut in Jerome, menace under the one word.

Theo smiled. ‘I
went to Tarfield, coz, from whence Miss Petrie came.’

His attention
became distracted by an access of light ascending the stairs. The
butler, returning with a full and blazing candelabrum. Jerome
signed to his valet, who took it in hand, holding it in a way that
illuminated much of the gallery and showed, to his intense
satisfaction, the damage he had inflicted on Theo with his avenging
fists.

Fewston
retreated towards the upper storey, and Jerome folded his arms in a
gesture Flo thought peculiarly threatening.

‘You had
reached Tarfield, I believe.’

‘Exactly
so.’

‘Proceed.’

Sheinton’s tone
became silky. ‘There I had an illuminating conversation with a
daunting female of the name of Hogstock, housekeeper to the
Reverend Hilary Warsash. The reverend gentleman, it seems, is not
as holy as one might expect, for—’

‘Will you cease
this incessant shilly-shallying?’ exploded Jerome. ‘Say what you
have to say and let us have done.’

‘My dear
fellow, I am not without delicacy. Unless you would have me say
outright that Mrs Petrie, a distant cousin of Warsash, had been,
until her demise a little over a year ago, his mistress.’

Flo breathed a
little more easily, and she noted Jerome’s stiff pose relaxing a
little.

‘Tell me
something I don’t know.’

Surprise
flickered in Sheinton’s features. ‘Then she told you. All of it?
How she grew up under the aegis of such a woman?’ A smile gleamed,
but there was little of kindliness in it. ‘Perhaps I have misjudged
you, Jerome.’

‘Nothing could
be more certain.’

‘I am glad of
it then. I must say I had imagined you’d had enough of
scandal.’

‘I meant, you
ignorant mischief-maker, that you can’t possibly guess my
intentions, whatever else you may have divined.’

To Flo’s
astonishment, Sheinton let out a crack of rude laughter. ‘Oh, your
intentions were mighty easy to divine, old fellow. Why in the world
do you think I made all this effort, if I had not been alerted to
your state of mind when I took you about that last night in the
metropolis? You muttered her name into your glass, not once but
fifty times. You spoke of mysteries, I remember, but your interest
was obvious. And then nothing would do for you but to start for
home immediately. Of course I guessed what was in the wind.’

‘You could
scarcely have done so, since I didn’t know it myself then.’

But Jerome’s
protest lacked conviction. What little memory he had of that night
was insufficient to be able to judge. And there had been a snatch
of talk concerning Flo. It explained all the oddities of his
cousin’s conduct. Though Theo had no notion that his intentions,
whatever they might have been, had irrevocably changed. He was
about to make this point in no uncertain terms when Sheinton opened
his mouth again.

‘One sees you
might have stomached that her mother was a strumpet. But you could
scarcely welcome into the family her bastard of a sister, however
amusing Belinda might be.’

‘Bastard?’ The
meaning penetrated, as a dozen clues that had puzzled Jerome
slipped into place. ‘Good God! Why in the world didn’t it strike
me? You are saying Belinda is this man’s daughter?’

His gaze veered
to Florence, and found her ashen in the unmerciful glare of the
candles. Jerome reached out, catching at her arm. Her eyes turned
to his.

‘Is it
true?’

Flo nodded
dumbly. There was no point in denial. It was her last secret, and
the driving force of her life—up until she had met Jerome. There
was a measure of relief in having it out in the open, although part
of her dreaded what he might say.

Jerome moved,
closing with her and drawing her into his embrace. His hands cupped
her face, and she hardly recognised his eyes for the tender look
she found there.

‘Do you think
it weighs against you, my bird? Not with me.’

Florence would
have spoken then, but she was forestalled. The harsh note was back
in Sheinton’s voice.

‘I was afraid
of that. I did not misjudge you, after all. Well for me I thought
to take precaution.’

‘What the devil
do you mean by that?’ Jerome grated, his fingers falling away from
Flo as he turned on his cousin.

‘Did you
imagine I was spending time with the other girl out of kindliness?’
sneered Theo. ‘No, my dear coz, it was by way of insurance. And I
am assured she dotes on me, for I have but just come from her
bedchamber.’

Shock ripped
through Flo’s breast. ‘You have been with her? Oh, dear Lord, no!
Not Belinda.’

And then she
was running, scarcely aware of the shout of warning behind her that
preceded a dull thud, a groaning protest, and a furious expletive.
Nothing was in her head but a hideous vision of violation.

Chapter
Twelve

No sound
emanated from behind the door, but Florence wrenched the handle
with a force born of terror, shoving at the hard wood. On the
threshold she halted, her heart hammering. Belinda was sitting up
in bed, propped by pillows, a burning candle throwing a hazy glow
over one side of her face.

Her sister
gazed open-mouthed, and Flo strode forward, unknowing that she
stretched out her arms.

‘Bel! Oh, dear
Lord, Bel, what has he done to you?’

The instant
look of conscious guilt that overspread her sister’s features threw
Florence into renewed torment. Reaching the bed, she flung herself
down upon it, seizing her sister’s hands.

‘Tell me,’ she
begged urgently. ‘I promise I am not angry with you, Bel, for it is
not your fault. Only tell me if that wretch has hurt you.’

Belinda gulped.
‘Oh, dear. I did hope you wouldn’t find it out, for I know it was
most improper.’

‘Improper! Is
that all you have to offer?’

Her sister’s
tone turned into a whine. ‘Well, but it was just for a moment, and
he said he knew he shouldn’t be in my bedchamber. He thought it
could not be wrong, for I am only fifteen, and—’

‘But you knew
it was wrong, Bel.’ Dismay flooded Flo. ‘Oh, what have you
done?’

‘I haven’t done
anything,’ Belinda protested, becoming indignant. ‘I never asked
him to come into my room! Indeed, I said at once you wouldn’t like
it and he should go. And he did go after a moment or two, so
there’s no real harm done.’

The sense of
her words penetrated the fog of horror in Florence’s mind. A faint
puzzlement ensued, followed by rising hope.

‘Then he did
not touch you?’

‘Touch me? Of
course not!’

Rising from the
bed, Flo grabbed the covers and dragged them back, ignoring her
sister’s yelping protestations.

‘You’ll let the
cold in! What in the world are you thinking of, Flossie?’

But Florence
was examining the sheets. Not content with the clear lack of
damning evidence, she yanked her sister’s nightgown up above her
knees, lifting it so she might look beneath.