Why Earls Fall in Love (19 page)

Unwilling to enter into a conversation about what sort of feelings his present position—which was pressing firmly against Georgina’s backside—evoked, Con shushed her.

In order to fool the watcher into thinking that Georgie was in her bedchamber, Georgie and Perdita had raided the attics of Lady Russell’s house and found a dressmaker’s form which they’d dressed and placed in the window as if it were looking out into the garden. From their vantage point below, it looked enough like a person that it should fool the watcher. Though Con suspected its stillness might give the game away.

“Do you think he’ll come?” Georgina whispered, her body relaxed against his.

Not wishing to give away their position, Con put his mouth against her ear. “I think it’s possible. Especially since Mr. Corey said he’s been here every night this week.”

Georgina’s body shivered, presumably from the feeling of his breath against her ear. Con steeled himself not to react, though there was little he could do to prevent his cock from rising to attention. “Be still,” he whispered.

Perhaps realizing what her response had provoked in him, Georgina stiffened against him. “Sorry,” she whispered back.

Con closed his eyes in exasperation. This was far more punishment than he deserved for getting involved with his former fiancée’s friend. This was the punishment he’d have deserved if he’d had an affair with her while he was still betrothed to Perdita. Which he had not done.

He hoped that somewhere the powers that be would reward him for his restraint.

He was imagining what sort of prize he might win for managing to get through the first ten minutes of this godforsaken exercise in self-control, when a noise at the back gate alerted him that they weren’t alone in the garden.

He strained his eyes to make out the figure who pushed into the enclosure and made his way toward the tree where he’d been standing on the first night Georgina had seen him.

Con lightly pinched Georgina on the arm and gave a slight jerk of his head toward the man. Silently, she nodded, her eyes fixed on the man. They both watched as the man who looked just as Georgie had described him stood and surveyed the area around him—perhaps sensing that he wasn’t alone in Lady Russell’s yard.

“Who’s there?” he hissed.

Twelve

Her eyes now accustomed to the dark, Georgie watched from the safety of Con’s arms as the man seemed to relax when no one responded to his question.

Remaining silent, Georgie felt Con step out from behind her, and maintaining his cover among the shrubbery, he worked his way around the perimeter of the garden until he was directly behind the fellow. From the other side of the garden, she could see Lord Archer stepping quietly to stand on Con’s other side.

Still unaware of his unwanted guests, the intruder nearly leaped a foot into the air when Con raised his weapon behind the other man, saying, “I shouldn’t move if I were you.”

“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded, his voice loud enough for Georgie to hear, turning to face not one but two men with guns trained at him. “This is private property, I’ll have you know.”

Shocked at the man’s gall, Georgie strained to see his expression but the shade kept her from seeing anything other than his outline. Though the shape of the pistol in his hand was visible enough.

“You are correct. This is private property,” Con said to the other man, his gun hand not wavering. “It belongs to my aunt. Try another tactic.”

Georgie heard the other man curse. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I have a right to be here. That woman up there is my relation. My sister-in-law. I’m here to watch over her.”

Something in Georgie snapped. The nerve of the man. How dare he claim to be here on her behalf! She didn’t even know him. Despite Con’s earlier admonishment that she stay where she was, she hurried along the garden path to where the men were standing facing one another with their pistols pointed at each other.

“I hope you don’t mean me, sir,” Georgie said, not caring that she sounded piqued. “I’ve never met you before in my life, so if you are here to watch over me as you called it, then it’s certainly something I’ve had no notion of.”

The man, his face so like Robert’s and yet, this close, so unlike, stared at her. “Mrs. Robert Mowbray, I presume?” he said with something that looked like relief. “I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to finally meet you. Especially after I’ve spent so long looking after you.”

“What the dev … er, deuce,” she amended, “are you talking about? I have no idea who you are, sir.”

Looking from his own pistol to Con and Archer’s, the man asked, “Do you mind if we dispense with these?”

Con exchanged a knowing look with Archer, who raised his brows as if to ask, “why not?” With a slight shrug, Con said, “We’ll put ours away if you will do the same.”

The man nodded and slowly all three men lowered their weapons and put them away. Turning to the shrubbery behind them, the man said, “Mary, you’d best come out now as well.”

Georgie was shocked to see her erstwhile friend Mary Kendrick step out from the bushes. Far from looking sheepish or guilty, the woman held her head high as she stepped forward to stand next to the man who so resembled Georgie’s husband.

What was going on?

“I don’t wish to interrupt this charming reunion,” Con said brusquely, “but might we retire somewhere indoors to complete our conversation?”

“Come,” Georgie said with a nod. “We can talk inside.”

If Con disliked having the man who’d been threatening her in his aunt’s house, he didn’t argue. “A good idea, Mrs. Mowbray,” he said, offering her his arm, and extending his other arm to indicate that their two visitors—for want of a better word—should precede them.

“Wait for me!” Perdita called as she stepped out from concealment and took Archer’s proffered arm. Despite her surprise about Mary Kendrick, Georgie couldn’t help but smile at Perdita’s excitement. “You didn’t think I’d miss what promises to be the most interesting conversation to take place in Bath all year long.”

To his credit, Lady Russell’s butler didn’t bat an eye at being asked to serve tea in the drawing room at such a late hour. Though Georgie imagined that the conversation belowstairs that evening would rival that in the drawing room for its unusual nature.

Once all six of them were seated in the drawing room with their own cups of tea, Georgie felt confident enough to start the conversation.

“Now, sir,” she said to her husband’s relative, “I think we should begin by having you tell us exactly who you are. I know you must be some relation of my husband, Robert Mowbray’s, but I have no idea whom.”

Not pretending to misunderstand her, the man gave a brisk nod and said, “I am, madam, your husband’s half brother. We never met. It wouldn’t have been right.”

Georgie might have informed the man that he’d not missed much given Robert’s unpleasant disposition, however, she held her tongue on the matter. Instead she said, “That makes sense, I suppose. Your mother was—I hate to put it this way—Mr. Mowbray senior’s paramour?”

“Aye,” the man said. “My name is Malcolm Lowther. My father kept my mother and me in a little house in Manchester, where he’d go on ‘business’ from time to time. I knew about Robert and his military career, but he didn’t know about me.”

“I dislike sounding ungrateful for this explanation,” Con said conversationally, “but do you mind very much explaining what possible reason you might have for standing in Lady Russell’s garden and frightening the devil out of Mrs. Mowbray night after night?”

At his words, Lowther reddened. “It’s a bit complicated,” he said, running a hand over his light brown hair.

“I think we’ve time to listen,” Con said agreeably. “Especially if it concerns Mrs. Mowbray’s well-being.”

Annoyed at the way Con was taking over her interrogation, Georgie cleared her throat. To his credit, Con looked a bit sheepish. But evidently Lowther didn’t notice this byplay, for he nodded, and went on. “A few weeks ago I received a letter from someone informing me that I’d lost a brother at Waterloo. This person claimed to have been with him at the last and that his dying wish had been for me to look after his wife, Georgina, whose mind had been unsettled by the war. I wasn’t to approach her directly, because that would only disturb her more, but I should watch her from afar. If I protected her during her stay in Bath, where she’d become companion to a wealthy elderly lady, this person would see to it that I received ten thousand pounds at the end of three weeks.”

For a few moments no one said anything. Then Archer gave a low whistle. “Ten thousand pounds is a vast sum of money for three weeks of work,” he said, exchanging a look with Con.

Georgie shook her head, unable to believe what her husband’s brother had just said. “Did this person never reveal who they were, or why they’d decided to play benefactor in this manner? Aside from my husband’s dying wish, I mean? You must admit, it’s a rather outlandish proposition.”

Lowther colored. “I realize it’s rather unconventional. But there is another thing that I failed to mention. I’d gotten into a bit of trouble at the gaming tables in the last couple of years. So I was, am, in desperate need of this ten thousand pounds. So I was perhaps more willing to believe them than I might otherwise have been.”

“And he gave no clue as to his identity?” Con persisted. “None at all?”

The young man shook his head. “That was part of the agreement. I would watch over Mrs. Mowbray for three weeks, and if I kept her safe, and did not attempt to learn the letter writer’s identity, then I would receive the ten thousand pounds.”

It was a rather sly plan, Georgie thought. Because Lowther needed the money he would follow the anonymous benefactor’s instructions. Which had placed him in a position to—without knowing it—terrorize her with the vision of her dead husband in the guise of following his dying wishes. It was rather brilliant actually.

“Were you following her at the theater last evening?” Con asked.

At the mention of the theater, Lowther looked abashed. “I was, my lord,” he said. “And I was sorry to hear what happened to Mrs. Mowbray in the hallway. But as soon as I realized she’d seen me, I left the theater and came back to my post in Henrietta Street.”

“What of the dead man on the roof?” Georgie asked, exchanging a look with Con. Surely if he’d been at the theater he was the one who’d killed the man looking for the stolen jewels.

Lowther blanched. “I don’t know about any dead man,” he said. “I promise you as soon as I got away from you in the theater hallway, I came straight here to wait for your return.”

Con seemed to believe the man, so Georgie turned her attention to the other person they’d captured. Quickly she explained how she and the other woman were acquainted. “What was your role in this, Mary? Did you receive a letter too? Or were you perhaps trying to find out if I knew anything else about the legacy your husband told you about?”

Before Mary could respond, Lowther spoke up. “I won’t have you speak like that to Mrs. Kendrick,” he said sharply. “She has nothing to do with this. She was simply here tonight to keep me company while I fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

But Mary Kendrick didn’t appreciate the young man’s chivalry, it would seem. “Don’t be foolish, Malcolm,” she chided. “There’s no way Georgina is going to believe there’s nothing more than simple coincidence here. I don’t mind telling my part. I owe it to her.”

Though Lowther looked unhappy about it, he didn’t object further. Mary continued, “I also received a letter. You know that my husband died at Waterloo as well as Robert. And like you, I received only a small widow’s portion upon which to live. I’ve been living here in Bath with my sister and her husband and this letter was like a gift from heaven. If I would only seek out Robert’s brother in Lady Russell’s back garden over the course of these three weeks, and…”—she colored, then forced the next words from between clenched teeth—“and attempt to seduce him in full view of your bedchamber window, then I would receive ten thousand pounds to do with as I pleased. But I could tell no one, and if I revealed the scheme to you in particular, Georgina, I would receive nothing.”

The widow looked angry, but defiant. As if she resented having to tell the tale and thus lose her reward, but took some pride in the confession as well. “I couldn’t see how it would hurt you,” she said. “After all, it isn’t as if I were carrying on with Robert himself. And I was sure if you knew what I stood to gain simply by lingering outside your bedchamber window, you’d be happy to help.”

Georgie stared at her friend and wondered how she’d ever thought Mary was a good person. There had been times when Georgie had suspected the other woman of mean-spiritedness but this went far beyond anything she’d ever imagined. Not only had she kept the information about Robert’s letter from her until that morning, but she’d also willfully conspired to terrorize Georgie in her own home. And thought Georgie would gladly help her if she only knew the reason.

“Thank you for telling us,” Georgie said, though she was hard-pressed to say the words aloud, given her outrage.

Mrs. Kendrick shrugged, and slipped her hand into Lowther’s. “I realized not too long after we began this strange business that whoever had written the letters was playing at something more underhanded than we’d at first imagined. I decided tonight that it had to stop.”

Georgie forbore from pointing out that she’d only decided this after she and Mr. Lowther had been caught out. It would do no good to antagonize the two of them when they still had some knowledge that might help Georgie and Con discover who the mysterious letter writer was. She also did not fail to notice the way the two seemed to be behaving toward one another. Perhaps some good would come of this.

“You don’t seem surprised to hear her side of the tale,” Con said to Lowther, apparently also interested in the couple’s connection. “Did you discover it on your own or did she reveal the whole to you later?”

“I’d rather not say,” Lowther said, his voice cool. “Suffice it to say that I discovered how things stood and encouraged Mary to tell me just how she’d gotten the idea to approach me in your aunt’s garden.”