Читать книгу Regency Seduction - Lucy Ashford - Страница 14

Katy was outside, clinging to Biddy. As soon as she saw Rosalie, she reached out to her. ‘Mama? I want Mama …’

‘Oh, darling …’ Rosalie hurried to hold her tight in her arms. Alec Stewart was looking at them both, sharply, knowingly. Naturally, Rosalie thought with scorn, that devil of a man had assumed Katy was hers. Well, let him. She realised Matt was there, too, looking rather warily at Captain Stewart and his crew.

‘Biddy. Matt,’ she said quickly. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Miss Helen sent me after you, miss, and told me to bring Matt, too. She was really cross when she realised you’d not taken him, like you’d said.’ Biddy glanced wide-eyed at the formidable figure of Alec Stewart, who had gone to say something to one of his men. ‘She told me,’ went on Biddy, ‘to say you must come home, because you ought not to be on these streets alone! I brought little Katy, too, ‘cos she was missing you bad, weren’t you, chick?’

Katy, in Rosalie’s arms, seemed quite happy now, and in fact had wriggled round to stare at Alec, who was strolling back towards them. She was clearly intrigued by the gleaming gold curb-chain of his pocket watch and her little fingers reached out to it.

‘Katy, don’t!’ Rosalie backed away with her quickly. She feared that he would use this as an opportunity to castigate her still further. Accuse her of rearing a future child-thief, perhaps.

But Alec had forestalled her. He pulled out his gold watch so Katy could see it. ‘This is all it is, sweetheart,’ he told the infant softly. ‘Something to remind me that I’m a busy man and I should have been somewhere else half an hour ago at least.’

‘Tick-tock.’ Katy looked up at him with her wide, dark-lashed green eyes. ‘Tick-tock man.’ She reached out to touch it, then gurgled in merriment.

Rosalie saw Alec’s mouth curl into a brief but devastating smile as he patted Katy’s chubby fist and put his watch away. Her heart jumped. So handsome. So beguiling. So false. As if to prove her point, he turned to Rosalie and the smile was quite gone. ‘It appears to me that your duties lie elsewhere, Mrs Rowland. I warn you—and I assure you I mean it—that there’ll be no writing about me or Two Crows Castle. My men will escort you and your companions as far as the hackney stand on Bishopsgate.’

Matt O’Brien was still watching him almost with awe; much use he was in protecting her from Captain Stewart, Rosalie thought in despair. Her chin lifted an inch. ‘We will make our own way, thank you!’

‘You won’t,’ he broke in icily. ‘I want you well clear of this place.’ He swung round and raised his voice. ‘Sergeant McGrath!’ The villainous-looking Scotsman with red hair came up. ‘Find Mrs Rowland and her companions a hackney cab, will you? And make damned sure they get into it.’ Without a further glance at her, he turned and strode off while McGrath led the way along Crispin Street, with Matt O’Brien at his side, eagerly asking questions.

‘I hear your Captain fought like the very devil against the French at Waterloo,’ Matt was saying to McGrath.

You traitor, Matt. Rosalie, holding Katy tight, walked furiously behind, with Biddy chattering away beside her. And she herself was a fool. Today, as Ro Rowland, roving reporter, she’d blundered straight into that man’s stronghold. Twice now she had let him kiss her. She’d twice melted in his strong arms, and, even worse, had wanted more. She shivered at the memory of that powerful body, moulded hard against hers; dear Lord, she had not even tried to resist him!

Her cheeks burned at the recollection of her astonishing stupidity. If Alec Stewart truly was Linette’s seducer—how on earth was she going to tackle him now?

McGrath beckoned a hackney, spoke to the driver, then strolled off. Biddy’s brother said he’d walk, since his next job of work was close by in Fenchurch Street. So just Biddy, Rosalie and Katy got into the cab.

‘Where to, miss?’ asked the cab driver.

‘Clerkenwell. St John’s Church,’ she answered distractedly, fumbling for her purse.

‘No need for that,’ said the cabbie. ‘Your fare’s bin paid.’

‘No! I won’t allow it!’ she exploded with renewed fury. Captain Stewart must have given the necessary coins to McGrath. How dare he …?

‘Suit yerself,’ shrugged the cabbie. ‘Pay me twice over if you wants to throw your money away.’

Rosalie slumped inside the carriage. Biddy was excited by the novelty of the trip and pointed the sights out to Katy through the window. ‘There’s St Paul’s, Katy, see? And there’s the Smithfield market …’

But Rosalie could see nothing except Alec Stewart’s hard, mocking face. She remembered his mouth and how it had branded her with the kind of kiss she hadn’t even known existed.

* * *

Katy had become fretful by the time they reached Clerkenwell. As they climbed out, the clock of the nearby church was chiming one, and Katy, in Rosalie’s arms, was crooning softly to herself, ‘Tick-tock man. Tick-tock man.’

Thus Rosalie would always remember the exact time that she realised what her enemy was capable of. Would always remember, as she held little Katy tight, the moment when Biddy cried out, ‘Lord have mercy, what on earth’s happened here?’

Rosalie swung round to thrust Katy into Biddy’s arms. ‘Look after her,’ she breathed. She was already hurrying towards the house.

The door was wide open. Helen was standing on the steps surrounded by neighbours and little Toby was clinging tearfully to her.

‘Helen.’ Rosalie pushed her way through. ‘Helen, what’s happened?’

‘Oh, Rosalie … Come and see.’

A horrible sick feeling tore at Rosalie’s gut as she followed her friend inside. In the front room the little square-built printing press, Helen’s pride and joy, had been viciously attacked with what could only have been a strong hammer or a pick-axe. Leaden type and pieces of wooden frame were scattered all over the floor.

‘Someone broke in while I was out. They picked the lock. Then—my printing press …’ Helen’s voice broke. ‘Look at this.’

She handed Rosalie a note scrawled in ink. Gossip-raking bitch.

Rosalie felt quite faint. ‘Did no one see anything?’

Helen shook her head. ‘Mrs Lucas over the road went for the constables when she heard the noise, but whoever it was had run off by the time they arrived. Oh, Rosalie, I—I knew I had enemies, but—this? Who could have done something so malicious? How am I going to start, all over again?’

Rosalie was reeling, because she knew somebody who was capable of such a ruthless revenge. Someone who had, quite possibly, kept her locked in his basement to give his men time to do this. Would such a person feel any regret whatsoever for seducing and abandoning an innocent girl? The answer, surely, was no.

She felt physically sick. I’m afraid I’ve found him, Linette.

And, oh, Lord, he was going to be a powerful adversary.

Some hours later Alec was pacing the landing outside the main bedchamber of his father’s magnificent Belgrave Square house.

As soon as he’d seen his unwelcome visitor—Mrs Rowland—off his premises, he’d ridden to give a fencing lesson in Piccadilly, then he had an appointment down at the Limehouse docks with a warehouse owner who wanted to hire a dozen men. Alec always tried to find work for his ex-soldiers if they were fit for it.

He’d got back to Two Crows Castle to find a message for him, written by the Earl’s steward, Jarvis. Master Alec. I’m afraid that your father has been taken ill. The doctor is with him. Please come.

A thousand thoughts had raced through Alec’s brain as he’d urged his horse westwards through London’s busy streets to Mayfair. A thousand regrets. How serious was this? Had his father’s bout of illness been brought on, perhaps, by the shock of evil knowledge? Would his father even want to see the son he’d disowned a year ago?

Jarvis, a loyal old retainer, came out of the bedchamber now, bearing a tray laden with medicinal beakers. ‘Your father will see you now, Master Alec, sir.’

That was something. ‘Is the doctor still with him?’

‘He’s gone, but he’ll call back within the hour. He said there are no physical signs of illness, but your father needs to rest.’

Alec felt a great release of tension throughout his body. But—No wonder he needs to rest, with a young wife who pleads to be taken to every party of the Season. With a young wife who …

No. You must forget that, for now.

Alec went swiftly up to the lavishly furnished chamber. His father lay against the pillows of the four-poster in the half-light, for the curtains of the big room were already drawn against the early February dusk and only the coals in the fire lightened the gloom.

‘Alec.’ Slowly his father turned towards him. His gaunt hands twisted the bedcovers fretfully. ‘It’s been so long, Alec. So long since I’ve seen you …’

When you told me you’d no desire to see me ever again.

‘Sir. If there’s anything I can do, you have only to say the word. How are you?’

‘Oh, the doctor says I’ll live.’ His voice rasped. ‘Your brother—he was here the moment he heard I was ill.’

I’ll bet he was. Alec merely nodded. ‘Jarvis told me what the doctor said. That your affliction is thankfully nothing serious.’

‘Yes,’ muttered his father. ‘Damned quack poked and prodded everywhere. But he said it would do me good to get away from London.’

Away from London. Yes. But … ‘What does Lady Aldchester think of that, sir?’ Susanna adored London life. She’d once said that she would die in the country.

The Earl shuffled against his pillows and coughed. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know; she’s been out shopping with friends all afternoon, she won’t even be aware that I’ve had this damned turn. But she’ll come with me, she’s devoted, Alec, despite what you said! And so is Stephen. Would you believe it, he’s just told me he was setting off for Carrfields himself today, to see that everything was in good order!’

Alec’s fists tightened at that. So his brother had taken heed of him then, last night.

‘But now,’ went on his father, ‘he needn’t go, of course. Because I’ll travel there myself, with my dear Susanna.’

I would die in the country.

‘And,’ went on his father, ‘no doubt Stephen will escort us there and visit us regularly.’

Alec exploded. ‘The hell he will!’ He dragged his hand through his hair, said in a quieter voice, ‘I do beg your pardon, sir.’

His father was silent a moment, kneading the bedcover with his fingers. ‘Do you remember the times we used to have, when you were home on leave? We used to sit up till late into the night, didn’t we, and you’d tell me, oh, such tales, about the battles, and the sieges in Spain …’

‘I’ve never forgotten it, sir.’

‘But now …’ and his father’s voice was growing fretful ‘… now, all I hear about you is that you avoid civilised company, you avoid your brother, except to fight with him. And my wife has told me, reluctantly mind, that it’s you, always you, stirring things up …’

‘I suppose she would,’ said Alec bitterly.

‘What? What did you say? Do you take heed of me, Alec? Your mother died so long ago—am I never to be allowed happiness again? Will you make your peace with your brother and your stepmother?’

Alec stood ramrod straight. ‘You ask the impossible, sir.’

The Earl stared at him. Then he waved a tired hand. ‘Go back to your soldiers’ drinking dens. Go on, go. And once I’m at Carrfields, I want you to clear out everything of yours that’s left in this house. Your old army journals, your maps of Spain—all the paraphernalia that clutters up your room and my study. It hurts me to see them all, to remember … Take them away, do you hear?’

‘Everything will be removed. Though I hope you know that if you ever need me, I’m here for you—’

‘Leave. Just leave.’

And Alec turned, with a heavy heart, to go.

He found Stephen in the first-floor drawing room, gazing with narrowed eyes at the paintings on the walls—some of them inherited, some acquired from auction houses—and worth, like everything in this palatial house, a small fortune.

‘So, little brother.’ Stephen, on observing Alec’s entry, turned from staring at a French landscape to sink on to a sofa, where he tapped his fingers rather nervously on its satin upholstery. ‘Come in hopes of taking advantage of the family drama, have you? Planning, perhaps, to weasel your way back into our father’s affections?’

Alec gazed at him calmly. ‘You’ve had a respite, Stephen. Last night I suggested you leave London. Now there’s no need. Because our father’s going to Carrfields with his wife.’

‘No! Has he just told you that?’ Stephen was on his feet again, his face flushed. ‘Susanna will die of boredom there!’

‘Perhaps. But if you do anything other than tell her she must accompany our father, then your game is at an end.’

‘You wouldn’t …’

‘Oh, I would. Believe me, I would.’

‘She’s young, Alec! Younger than me, younger than you. And Carrfields—it’s like a prison for her!’

‘She should have thought of that before she married him,’ rapped back Alec. ‘Obviously his wealth distracted her from the practical realities of playing wife to a much older man.’

Stephen drew in a hissed breath. ‘Now, look. As far as London society is concerned, I’m merely being the dutiful stepson by escorting her to her various engagements …’

His voice faltered, because of the way Alec was gazing at him. ‘You won’t be escorting her anywhere in the foreseeable future—’ Alec pointed a finger at him, casually ‘—because she’s going to Hampshire with our father.’

Stephen opened his mouth, then shut it again.

‘Oh, and there’s one more thing,’ went on Alec. ‘Why were you talking last night to the blonde whore who played Athena?’

‘Why? The usual reasons.’ Stephen’s lip curled. ‘So you noticed her, too, did you? Are you going back there tonight to tup the wench? I’d be interested to know what bedroom tricks she employs—’

Stephen broke off, because his brother’s bunched fist was suddenly in front of his face. ‘Oh, Stephen,’ Alec said softly, ‘I’ve no intention of paying for anyone’s services. But I’ve another question. You paid those men to attack me last night at the Temple of Beauty, didn’t you? Why?’

‘I really don’t know what the hell you’re—’

‘Don’t waste your breath trying to deny it. Because I’m just longing for an excuse to give you the beating you deserve.’

Stephen cowered away. ‘Not here. Not in our father’s house!’

Then the door opened. And Susanna was there.

Lady Aldchester, the former Contessa di Ascoli, was exquisite, everyone was agreed on that. Her origins were obscure—she had been born in England to an Italian mother and had married a Milanese count, considerably older than she.

When he died in Italy two years ago his widow had decided to come to live in London, where she had made her entrance in considerable style. She had rented a fine house where she held glittering soirées with her mother, and soon half of London’s gentry were in love with her.

Including his father.

Now she looked from one to the other, lovely as ever, with her clouds of raven curls and her sultry dark-blue eyes. She was younger than both of them. Then she said, in her silken voice that bore the allure of her Italian heritage, ‘Stephen. Alec. I’ve just been told that your father is ill.’

‘It’s nothing serious,’ said Stephen. ‘Rest assured.’

‘I will go up, then, to see him …’

Stephen strode forwards. ‘I will come with you.’

‘No. Best if I see him by myself.’

Alec had already turned to go. But he became aware that she was following him out on to the palatial landing above the staircase, where they were, momentarily, alone. The faint scent of gardenias clung to her skin and hair.

‘Alec,’ she said, ‘my dear, please will you speak with me one moment before I go up to your father?’ Her delicate gloved fingers were touching his arm. ‘It’s been so long since we spoke. I’m sad, because you used to be at every society gathering. You are missed,’ she added softly.

‘Do you know,’ he said in a curt voice, ‘I find that London society doesn’t appeal to me very much at the moment. Susanna, my father wants to go to Carrfields.’

The colour left her cheeks. ‘Carrfields! But he promised me—’

‘I take it,’ Alec cut in, ‘that you’ll go with him? Stephen, by the way, is staying in London.’

She hesitated. Then, ‘Of course I will go.’

With a tight bow, he turned to leave, but she caught again at his arm. ‘My dear, I so wish we could be friends again! And I’m sorry about the Bedford Street house. I told your father that my mother wished for a residence in London. But I didn’t realise you would be made homeless!’

‘Didn’t you?’ This time he couldn’t help the bitterness showing through. ‘Believe me, that’s the least of my worries.’

Her eyes were clouded. ‘What can I do, to redeem myself?’ she murmured. ‘Alec, I am not happy, you must know that. I am not, if it’s of any consolation to you, in the slightest bit proud of myself.’

‘I think you know, Susanna, what you ought to do. Whether you do it or not is entirely up to you. You have a better side. Use it.’ Alec gave a curt bow and left.

She watched him go down the vast staircase that swept to the entrance hall below. Stephen had come out of the drawing room and was looking at her.

‘Carrfields,’ he said. ‘How will you bear it?’

‘It seems,’ she answered, ‘as if I must.’

And she went upstairs, to visit her husband.

Shortly afterwards, Lord Stephen Maybury went back to his house in Brook Street and spoke to the man with the scarred forehead. ‘Well, Markin? Did you do as I ordered?’

‘Hire a couple of ruffians to wreck the printing press that produced that foul stuff about Lady Aldchester? Aye, my lord. And there’s more. The fair-haired piece from the Temple of Beauty that you asked me to follow last night—turns out she lives there, as well! She’s some kind of writer!’

And Stephen’s narrow green eyes widened.

He had been absolutely enraged to see the way Susanna looked at Alec out there on the landing. The way she had agreed, in spite of all her earlier protestations about hating the country, to go with his father to Carrfields.

Was she tiring of her secret games with Stephen?

Now, though, the blonde girl from the Temple of Beauty drove everything from his mind. If there was a connection, with the other one from three years ago, he needed to shut the girl up. And fast.