A Husband's Wicked Ways (12 page)

Aurelia hid a smile.
Sir
had yielded to the
master
of Greville’s boyhood in a very short time. Greville didn’t appear to notice the change as he said he’d settle for Bert’s strong ale.

Bert rose heavily from the table and disappeared into
a scullery, reappearing with a foaming tankard that he set down on the table with a satisfied thump. “There,” he declared, and returned to his seat opposite. Greville, with a word of thanks, straddled the bench as if he was quite at home in this kitchen and raised the tankard to his lips.

“Ye’ll be wantin’ a nice wash in some ’ot water, I’ll be bound,” Mary now said, turning back to Aurelia. “You come along a’me, m’dear, everything’s ready for you…. Bring the posset.” She picked up Aurelia’s cloakbag and bustled to the door of the kitchen, and Aurelia, rather reluctant to leave the warm, cheerful room, followed with her porringer.

They climbed a narrow staircase rising from a corner of a small, stone-flagged hall. Every piece of furniture was agleam with beeswax, and the scent of lavender oil perfumed the air. Mistress Masham clearly kept an immaculate house.

“Here we are, m’dear.” At the top of the stairs, Mary opened a door wide and Aurelia followed her into a square chamber lit by oil lamps and a bright fire in the grate. The hangings were chintz, the colors faded from frequent washing, but they were crisply starched and pressed. The bed coverlet was a patchwork quilt of intricate design, the furniture solid and well crafted. Once again the scents of beeswax and lavender oil filled the warm air.

“Now, there’s ’ot water in the ewer.” Mary gestured to the marble-topped washstand. “An’ I’ll pop a bed
warmer between the sheets while y’are at supper. Nice an’ cozy, you’ll be.”

“Yes, I will,” Aurelia said warmly, looking with longing at the four-poster bed with its piled pillows that were scattered with lavender. An uncomfortable day had certainly ended in a delightful haven.

M
ARY SET
A
URELIA’S CLOAKBAG
on the chest at the foot of the bed. “Anythin’ you want laundered, m’dear? ’Tis wash day tomorrow an’ I can do it in a trice.”

“Oh, no, thank you,” Aurelia said. “Everything’s clean…except for what I’m wearing.” She brushed disdainfully at her serge skirt. “This is somewhat travel-stained.”

“Leave it out an’ I’ll sponge an’ press it tomorrow,” Mary said, going to the door. She swept one more critical glance around before nodding her satisfaction. “Make yourself at home, m’dear. Supper will be served in the front parlor.”

It was on the tip of Aurelia’s tongue to say she’d much prefer the kitchen, but then she thought that Mary and her family might find it uncomfortable to eat with their visitors. For all Mary’s apparent informality, the social chasm between them remained a fact.

Aurelia opened the cloakbag and took out the gown she’d been wearing that morning before assuming the guise of the tenant farmer’s wife. It wasn’t too badly creased. She shook it out and laid it on the bed, then unhooked the serge gown. In her chemise and petticoat, she poured hot water on a washcloth and sponged her neck and arms.

A knock at the door startled her. She looked at the door, washcloth poised over the crook of her arm. “Who’s there?”

“Greville. May I come in?”

“Just a minute. I’m not dressed.”

“Well, put something on quickly. There are a couple of things I would like to discuss before we go down to supper.”

Aurelia took the muslin gown from the bed and dropped it over her head, buttoning it swiftly. She smoothed down the skirt and went to open the door. “Come in.” She moved away immediately into the middle of the room.

Greville closed the door behind him. For a moment he leaned against it, regarding her closely, his mouth quirked in a half smile. Gleams of light danced in the dark gray eyes as he murmured, “You look quite charming, my dear, not in the least fatigued, despite the rigors of the day.”

“Looks are deceiving,” she said, attempting to brush aside the compliment. But she felt strangely vulnerable, suddenly acutely aware of the ramifications of what she
had agreed to when she’d agreed to help him. It seemed emphasized by their isolation in this country retreat, by her complete separation from the life she knew and understood. In that life, she would not have been in an unfamiliar bedchamber alone with a man who was neither relative nor close friend. She wouldn’t have thought twice if Harry or Alex were standing where Greville now stood, but they would not have been looking at her with that gleam in their eyes. It was very much the look of a man seeing a woman in a particular light. And his thoughts were definitely on something other than the mundane.

Her heart started to jump around behind her breastbone, and her fingers quivered slightly. She sat down on the bed, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. “So, what do you wish to talk about?”

“I want to prepare you with the right story.” He came farther into the room and took up what seemed to be his favorite position in front of the fire, one arm leaning along the mantel. “Mary knows nothing of my extracurricular activities. She knows me only as Colonel Falconer, and she believes that in that role I am escorting you to Scotland. You are the wife of a fellow officer presently stationed abroad who, when he knew I would be returning to England on leave, asked me to ensure that you reach your Scottish relatives safely.”

“Wouldn’t she think our arrival in that hired gig, dressed like peasants, somewhat odd in that case?” The conversation was effectively calming Aurelia’s over
heated blood, and she rose from the bed, going across to the dresser to adjust the loosened pins in her hair.

“She believes your circumstances are somewhat straightened,” Greville said, watching. The curve of her arms was deliciously sensual as she raised them over her head, and his breath caught in his throat.

He cleared his throat and continued in a brisk tone, “She knows that’s why it’s necessary for us to travel by stage, and our somewhat eccentric attire is designed to make us inconspicuous among our fellow travelers. Less likely to be robbed, or hassled in any way. Perfectly reasonable explanation, and I don’t believe that she’s given the issue a second thought.”

“But are we staying here for the full five days?” She twisted a ringlet around her finger, encouraging it to curl tighter, before affixing a pin.

“Yes…you find travel debilitating…you’re recovering from an illness and a few days in the fresh air before we continue our journey will be beneficial.”

Aurelia shook her head in mock admiration. “My, my, you have been busy in the last four days. What a fabrication.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I should watch that hornet’s tongue of yours, if I were you. It could get you into serious trouble one of these days. As it happens, the fabrication, as you call it, is purely for your benefit. I thought you might be more comfortable in this situation with an unimpeachable explanation for it.”

Aurelia turned slowly on the dressing stool, her ex
pression a little rueful, as she regarded him with her head slightly tilted. “I’m grateful for your consideration, Colonel.”

He bowed in acknowledgment, his eyes uncomfortably penetrating. “I have told you already, Aurelia, that your safety and well-being are of paramount importance. I will do nothing to jeopardize either.”

She met his gaze steadily for a moment, then said slowly, “I know that I need your protection and I have no intention of making light of it. I don’t have your experience at manipulation and deception, but I have a healthy sense of self-preservation, believe me. For my daughter’s sake, if not my own. She’s not going to lose two parents to this wretched war.”

“Then we understand each other.” He moved to the door. “Let us go down to supper.”

Aurelia walked past him as he held the door and walked downstairs.

“Ah, there you are.” Mary popped out of the kitchen as Aurelia reached the hall. “Go into the front parlor, ma’am. I’ll bring supper directly.” Aurelia opened a door to the right of the stairs onto a bow-windowed room, comfortable but shabby, warmed by a blazing fire and well lit with oil lamps hanging from the rafters. A round table in the bow window was set for two.

“May I help you carry something, Mary?” Greville asked.

“Bless you, no, Master Greville. Our Billy can lend a hand, and I’ve taken little Bessie Cobham on…you re
member the Cobhams, I’m sure…anyway, it was doin’ them a favor to take the little maid on. They can barely feed the mouths they ’ave, an’, while she’s small, she can still ’elp out a bit with the light work.”

Greville murmured something appropriate and came into the parlor as Mary returned to the kitchen. “Now, I sent down a case of some rather fine claret…I wonder if Mary remembered…oh, yes, of course she did.” With a nod of satisfaction he went to the sideboard, where a bottle of wine and two glasses reposed on a pewter tray.

He opened the bottle and poured wine into the glasses, bringing them both over to the fireplace, where Aurelia stood pleasurably warming her backside.

She took the glass with a nod of thanks.

“To our enterprise.” Greville raised his glass in a toast. His eyes gleamed, his crooked mouth curved in a smile as he touched his glass to Aurelia’s.

Something about the smile made her heart race again. He was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before. She took a deep draft of her wine and turned with relief to the door as Mary came in bearing a laden tray, accompanied by a young girl of around nine, who carried a bowl of potatoes.

“Set ’em down here, Bessie, there’s a good girl,” Mary instructed as she began to unload her tray on the table. The rich scents of oxtail and parsley dumplings filled the room.

“Master Greville said as ’ow you needed fatten’ up a
bit, m’dear,” Mary said comfortably, beginning to serve from the steaming cauldron. “Not been well, I gather. Come an’ sit down now.”

Aurelia took the chair Greville held for her and surveyed with comical dismay the mountain of food placed before her. Greville flicked an eyebrow in amused comprehension and sat down in front of his own laden platter.

“Now, there’s a dish of buttered cabbage an’ some braised onions, as well as the spuds,” Mary said, gesturing to each dish in turn. “You ’elp yourselves now. We’ve ’ad ours in the kitchen, so there’s no need to save a mouthful. Eat hearty now.” She cast one last glance over the table to satisfy herself that all was in order, then bustled out, sweeping little Bessie before her.

“I couldn’t possibly eat all this,” Aurelia said. “It smells wonderful…oh, and it tastes even better,” she declared, after a forkful.

“Don’t worry, I’ll eat what you can’t,” Greville said, piling potatoes onto his plate and mashing them into the gravy with his fork. “I have a hearty appetite.”

“Well, there’s rather a lot of you to feed,” Aurelia observed, spearing cabbage on her fork.

“Certainly more than there is of you.” His eyes darted at her, lingering for a minute on her bosom.

She felt her cheeks warm. Could he be imagining her naked? What an absurd thought. But her nipples hardened beneath the dark gray gaze and hastily she reached
for her wineglass. “So what are some of these things I need to learn?” she asked with an attempt at insouciance.

His white smile flashed, then he seemed to compose his features, turn his mind inward, almost to become someone else. “Yes, it’s time to get to work,” he said rather briskly. “Tomorrow we shall look at some of the methods of communication…fairly basic for the most part, I doubt we’ll need to become too arcane. But you should know about plain code, and we’ll need to develop some simple body signals that will convey information in a crowd.”

Aurelia was fascinated. She leaned forward, her food forgotten. “Do you mean at a party, a social event of some kind? What kind of information?”

“Certainly in a public place. Have you finished…shall I help you out?” He reached for her plate, and impatiently she pushed it across to him.

“I don’t understand why it might be necessary to communicate something secretly to you in public.”

He finished transferring the contents of her plate to his own, then added more potatoes and cabbage before saying, “If, for instance, you’re talking to someone who is of interest, shall we say, I might need to know if he’s getting ready to leave the party, or theater, or wherever. And you may well be in a position to give me that information.”

“Oh, I see.” Aurelia considered this. “So we’ll be operating, if that’s the word, most of the time?”

“
All
the time.” He leaned across to refill her glass before refilling his own. “Once we begin, my dear Aurelia, you will never not be working.” He looked hard at her. “I have no intention of making this sound easy. It is not. All the time you will be on your guard. All the time you will be listening, absorbing, choosing and discarding snippets of conversation as relevant or not. And you will be looking over your shoulder
always.
”

Aurelia felt another chill of apprehension, of doubt.
Could she do this? Really, could she do this?
Frederick had done it…but Frederick had not had a child to worry about. Frederick had gone swanning on his merry way, knowing that
she
would take care of their child.

Greville continued with his supper, but he was aware almost physically of her thoughts, the doubt that jumped at him across the space separating them. He said nothing. Aurelia had to overcome this herself.

Aurelia waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, she spoke. “I won’t do anything that will put Franny in danger. Can you guarantee that won’t happen?”

He put down his knife and fork. “I can guarantee nothing, Aurelia. But can you guarantee that one day a hackney won’t ride up on the pavement and run you down? Can you guarantee that you won’t fall ill?” He reached a hand across the table and laid it over hers. “My dear, there are no guarantees in this world. I can promise, as I already have done, that I will do everything possible to keep you away from danger. And as far as I
can see, the work I’ll require of you won’t bring you anywhere near danger.”

“Except that I’ll be inextricably associated with
you,
” she pointed out, letting her hand rest beneath his, somehow comforted by the warm but undemanding pressure. “You must be known, somewhere, somehow, in the shadows.”

He nodded. “Unfortunately that’s always a possibility. But I’m fairly confident that Greville Falconer, a colonel in one of His Majesty’s cavalry regiments, is not associated with any of my many aliases. My identity changes with every mission, and no one’s exposed me yet, to my knowledge. But I will promise you this one thing…on my life and my honor. I will protect Franny.”

“Even if something happens to me?”

“It won’t…but, yes, even if anything happens to you, whether it’s connected to our business or not. I will take responsibility for Franny’s welfare.” His smile was somber. “I owe it to Frederick, too.”

The door opened and without fuss he withdrew his hand from hers as Mary and the little girl came in. “Finished?” Mary asked as she surveyed the dishes on the table. “I hope you ate something, m’dear. I know Master Greville, he’ll ’ave the last morsel off your plate if you looks the other way for a minute.”

Mary shook her head reminiscently as she piled the dirty dishes on her tray, handing some to the girl. “Now, there’s a good apple crumble to follow. Tasty winter apples what Tom’s been a-keepin’ in the apple loft, an’ a
good pitcher of cream from old Bluebell…best milk cow we got,” she added to Aurelia. “Set you up nicely, it will.”

“Yes, I’m sure…thank you, Mary,” Aurelia responded, wondering how huge the apple crumble would be.

But then Greville would eat what she couldn’t, she remembered. Strange that he didn’t seem to have any fat on him, his powerful frame was all muscle and long limb. And what would he look like in the skin? Dear God, what was happening to her? Where in the name of all that was good had that thought come from?