A Husband's Wicked Ways (13 page)

Greville said nothing further until the apple crumble and a big bowl of rich, yellow cream was set upon the table, then he refilled their wineglasses and said, “Have you ever fired a gun?”

Aurelia, serving the crumble, dropped the serving spoon back into the dish. “A gun? Of course not…why on earth would I?”

He shrugged. “You grew up in the country, it’s not impossible that you learned how to shoot pheasant or starlings or some such.”

“I’m not a farmer’s daughter,” she said a shade tartly, passing him a laden plate. “I wasn’t taught to wring the necks of chickens either.”

“The question wasn’t intended as an insult,” he protested mildly, ladling cream onto his pudding. “I’ve known many women who are adept with a firing piece.”

“In your line of work, maybe,” she said, remember
ing Frederick’s letter. “Derring-do is not a feature of life in the New Forest. I can sail a boat, though, and ride a horse with more than competence. If that’s of any use.”

“Frederick was a good sailor. Was it a pastime you enjoyed together?”

“As children we all learned, Nell, Stephen, Frederick, Livia, and I, how to sail on the Keyhaven River. Once we were old enough to put up our hair, however, it was pronounced a forbidden pastime for the girls. Most unfair, we thought it.” Her eyes were suddenly unaccountably misty, and she blinked hard. They had been happy times, those long, carefree summer days on the river.

“Well, I doubt you’ll have a use for the talent in our present enterprise,” Greville said, reaching to help himself from the dish of apple crumble.

“But I
will
have a use for the ability to fire a pistol?”

“I hope not, but it’s a precaution, so we’ll have a few lessons while we’re here.”

That chill of apprehension once again lifted the fine hairs on her nape. She took a sip of her wine and pushed aside her half-eaten pudding.

“I’m tired,” she said abruptly, getting to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go up to bed.”

“Of course. It’s been a long day.” He rose politely and went to open the door for her. As she passed him, he laid a hand lightly on her shoulder.

A shiver ran down her spine at the touch. She stopped and looked up at him. His face seemed to waver before her eyes, to lose its sharp, defining contours. Her eyes were fixed on his mouth, that crookedly sensual curve, and when he lowered his head and kissed her mouth, she knew she had been expecting it. His mouth tasted sweet and spicy, as apples and wine mingled on his tongue, and her belly lurched, her blood surged.

Then it was over. He raised his head, let his hand fall from her shoulder as he moved aside, and with a mute nod, she slipped past him through the door.

Greville closed the door on her departure and returned to the table. He took up his wineglass and stood gazing down into the ruby depths of his goblet. He had made love to many women, in the field and out of it, at work and at play. But he had never once lost his objectivity, however seductive the woman. Except of course for Dorothea, but he had been a mere stripling in the throes of calf love in those heady days. And damn it all, Aurelia Farnham reminded him more and more of Dorothea.

He found her as alluring, exciting, and challenging as he had found his long-ago mistress. But since Dorothea, he had found many other women all those things and still maintained an objective distance. There was one cardinal rule in his trade, trust no one. Never let down your guard.

And yet he could feel that guard slipping a little when
he was with Aurelia. As if his emotions were in danger of dictating the course rather than his head. He could not allow himself to get too close to her.

He drained the contents of his glass and went to a corner cupboard, where he knew he would find a bottle of apple brandy.

A
URELIA ENTERED HER BEDCHAMBER
and closed the door firmly behind her. She leaned against it, gazing around the welcoming firelit chamber. Someone had turned down the quilt and plumped up the pillows, and she could see the shape of a warming pan beneath the covers. Her nightgown had been removed from the cloakbag and was lying across the end of the bed, her slippers ready and waiting on the floor below.

An overwhelming fatigue washed through her. All she wanted to do was curl up in that warm, deep feather bed and close her eyes on everything. Time enough in the morning when she was rested and refreshed to wonder what that kiss had meant, if indeed it had meant anything. It was probably simply intended to underscore the nature of their mission. The world had to be convinced of a romantic attachment between them, and a little practice seemed entirely in keeping with the rea
son for this clandestine retreat. That was surely all he intended. Or was that all?

She pushed herself away from the door with an effort and turned to lock it.

She awoke to a firm tapping on the door and for a moment lay half-awake, disoriented. Then she heard Greville’s voice from the hall outside. “Are you awake, Aurelia? We need to make an early start.”

She groaned and struggled up against the pillows, blinking in the pale light of early morning. The grandfather clock in the corner of the bedchamber said six o’clock.

“Aurelia,” he called again. “Let me know you’re awake.”

“I’m awake,” she muttered, then said louder, “All right, I’m
awake
.”

“Good. Unlock the door now, Mary wants to see to your fire.” His tone was light, and enviably energetic. “I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast in half an hour.”

Aurelia lay back against the pillows again, trying to summon up the necessary will to swing her feet to the floor. Finally she did so and padded to the window. A rime of frost clouded the glass, but she unlatched the window nevertheless. It creaked open reluctantly and she shivered in the blast of crisp air. It was a lot colder in the countryside than in the city.

She went to the door and turned the key, opening it
a crack. Mary stood outside, patiently waiting. “I tried the door, ma’am, not wanting to wake you when I saw to the fire. It was locked so I was going to leave you to your sleep, but Master Greville said as ’ow you needed to be up and about,” she explained apologetically as she entered the room. “Eh, good ’eavens, ma’am, what’re you doin’?” she exclaimed, scandalized. “You be lettin’ all that good warm air out. Close the window, now.”

Aurelia obeyed, pulling the window shut with another shiver. “Forgive me, Mary. It looked so pretty outside, I didn’t realize how cold it is.” She came over to the fire where Mary was piling kindling on the ashy embers. “It’s almost spring.”

“Not ’ereabouts,” Mary declared, lighting a taper and putting it to the kindling. “Not until April, at least not this year. Uncommon harsh winter we ’ad.” She pushed back on her knees and stood up with a creak and groan. “’Ard on the joints it is, ’n’ all. Right glad I’ll be when the summer’s ’ere.”

“Yes, I’m sure it must be,” Aurelia agreed with quick sympathy.

“An’ you needs t’ be careful, m’dear,” Mary stated. “Master Greville told me as ’ow you’ve not been too chipper.”

“Oh, it was nothing much. Just a touch of fever.”

“Well, you’d best keep in the warm.”

“Yes, yes, I will.” Then, after an instant’s hesitation, Aurelia said, “I understand you knew Sir Greville well as a child, Mary.”

The woman’s gaze softened. “Oh, aye, that I did, m’dear. Poor little mite.”

Aurelia’s attention sharpened. “How so?”

“Oh, he was left on ’is own to make shift as he could.” Mary shook her head. “Roamin’ the estate at all hours, ’angin’ around Bert an’ me whenever we had a moment to spare, while ’is mother…” She stopped, closing her lips firmly. “I’ll not say ill of the dead.”

She went to the door. “There’s tea on the tray an’ I’ll send Bessie up with some hot water. Breakfast in the front parlor. Master Greville likes to break his fast early.”

Absently Aurelia murmured her agreement, her mind occupied with what little insight Mary had given her into the child Greville had been. Neglected, lonely, it appeared. And what was it about his mother that had silenced Mary so suddenly? Interesting questions, but Aurelia was certain she needed to probe slowly and carefully if she was to discover more from Greville himself.

Bessie appeared with hot water and shyly offered her services to help miss dress. Aurelia declined the offer with a smile of thanks. Somehow she didn’t think Bessie would be too adept with a curling iron. Alone, she stripped off her nightgown and sponged herself from head to toe. She dressed in one of the two linen gowns she’d brought with her. The muslin seemed a little flimsy for shooting pistols, or whatever the colonel had in store for her.

She hadn’t known what to pack when she’d received the cryptic summons to Cheapside, but it had occurred to her that since they were going somewhere unknown to anyone in her circle, silks and satins would be surplus to requirement.

She drank her tea as she dressed, wrapped herself warmly in the paisley shawl she’d had the foresight to bring, and went downstairs as the long-case clock in the hall at the foot of the stairs struck six thirty.

Greville was already in the front parlor, where the fire blazed. Weak sunlight showed through the bay window and the candles were still lit. He was standing at the window when she came in and turned immediately, his gaze running down her in one all-encompassing sweep. He offered a small bow. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning.” She came over to him, standing beside him to look out of the window. “A cold one, it seems.”

“Yes. But it will warm up soon enough.”

He was standing so close to her she could feel his body heat, smell the soap on his skin. The memory of that kiss flooded back, the sweet, salt taste, the feel of his mouth on hers. Surely it had meant more than a simple practice run? It had certainly felt like it.

“Here’s breakfast then.” Mary’s cheerful voice brought her back to earth. She stepped swiftly away from Greville and went to the table, taking dishes from the woman’s tray and placing them on the table.

“This is a feast, Mary,” she said, hoping that she was not blushing, that she’d given no indication to Greville of that moment of arousing memory.

“Aye, it should do you.” Mary gave a satisfied nod as she surveyed the laden table, then took the empty tray and left.

“So what are we doing today?” Aurelia sat down and reached for the toast.

Greville glanced at the window, where the sun was shining with more strength. “Some outdoor exercise, I think. We might as well take advantage of the good weather, it’s bound to rain one of these days, it always does. We’ll save the indoor lessons for then.”

“What kind of exercise?”

“A little target practice to start, then I want to show you how to recognize if you’re being followed, and some avoidance techniques.”

It was the strangest day she had ever spent, Aurelia thought in the waning light of late afternoon. She was standing in a narrow country lane, quite alone. Or so she believed. Had she managed to lose Greville in the little village behind her? He’d been following her. Although she hadn’t seen him, she’d felt his presence. But now she couldn’t sense him at all.

A little smile played over her lips. It had been an inspiration to climb into the back of the carter’s wagon tethered outside the village inn. She’d buried herself
among sacks of cabbages, and not even the carter, who admittedly was somewhat the worse for his sojourn in the inn’s taproom, had known about his passenger. Once safely through the village and into the lane, she’d slid from the back of the wagon undetected. Fortunately the carter had been dozing on the driver’s seat and the horse had been plodding along slowly, heading for home on his own instincts.

Her goal was to dodge Greville and reach Mistress Masham’s farm alone. The farm was on the outskirts of the next village, easily reached by the lane. But she stood out like a sore thumb on the well-traveled road. She looked around, chewing her lip. A stile gave access between high bramble hedges onto a field. It was a matter of a minute to climb over. If she followed the hedge running parallel with the lane, she would surely find the farm.

Aurelia glanced anxiously around the field, hoping a rampant bull wasn’t watching her. A herd of cows were peacefully chewing the cud in the middle of the field, watching her with typical bovine curiosity. But cows did not alarm her, and she could see no sign of a bull.

She set off along the hedge line, drawing her pelisse closer around her as a sharp gust of wind whistled around a corner of the field. It had been a strange day, indeed, but she was now more than ready for it to end. The farm couldn’t be more than a mile away, as long as the hedge ran straight bordering the lane.

She reached the end of the field and climbed a gate into
the next one. She was hurrying along the hedge, thinking of fire and her dinner, when her scalp contracted and her heart jumped against her breastbone. Someone was walking on the lane on the far side of the hedge. She stopped, and the footsteps in the lane stopped, too.

Disappointment rose in her throat. She’d so wanted to succeed. She started off again and the footsteps kept pace with her, then speeded up. At the end of the field another stile gave access to the lane, and Greville appeared, leaning his folded arms on the top bar, smiling as she approached.

“Well done,” he said.

“It wasn’t well done at all,” she retorted, unable to hide her annoyance. “You found me after all.”

“Yes, of course I did.” He offered her his hand over the stile. “What did you expect?”

He sounded so coolly self-confident, so complacent, that Aurelia wanted to hit him. She ignored his hand and clambered over on her own, saying nothing. After a minute he said, “Don’t be annoyed with yourself, Aurelia. You did very well. I didn’t see you get in the wagon. I spent a good ten minutes searching the village for you before I realized what you must have done.”

She looked at him. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” He took her hand and tucked it into his arm. “This was your first day out, dear girl, and you surprised me.”

That made her feel a lot better, but she was more than relieved to see the lights of the farmhouse just ahead.
They went in through the kitchen, and Mary, tending a roast on a spit over the range, clucked her tongue at them.

“You shouldn’t be keeping madam out this late in the cold, Master Greville. The night air’s not healthy.”

“I didn’t intend to stay out so late, Mary,” he said with a conciliatory smile. “But then I didn’t expect Lady Farnham to surprise me as she did.”

“I’ll go and change for dinner,” Aurelia said, slipping her arm out of his and heading for the door.

“There’s hot water above, m’dear.” Mary turned back to her roast.

In her own chamber, Aurelia closed the door and stood with her back to it taking stock of the day. She drew off her gloves and examined her hands, flexing her fingers, remembering how it felt to hold the pistol, to pull the trigger. Mentally she went through the steps of cleaning the fired weapon and reloading it, as Greville had shown her with painstaking patience.

He was a good teacher, she reflected, tossing her gloves onto the chest and unfastening her pelisse. Patient, although somewhat didactic at times. Infuriatingly sure of himself most of the time, but then he would give her that crooked grin that was utterly disarming, as if mocking himself.

And, sweet heaven, there was no denying how attractive she found him. As attractive as he was intriguing. She’d been attracted to a few men since Frederick left, but not sufficiently to be disturbed by the sensation. It
had been pleasant while it lasted, and not particularly distressing when it had ceased. But something about this felt different. As if it wasn’t simply superficial. But it could not be anything else, she told herself firmly. There had been no repetition of last night’s kiss, no seemingly accidental touches, nothing that was not strictly business. They had a task to complete, just that and no more. She found him attractive and that was fortunate considering the charade they were to play. It would be easier to convince her friends of a sudden romantic attachment if indeed there was some truth in it. A lot easier to play the part for public consumption.

With a brisk, confirming nod of her head she went to the armoire to find her other linen gown. She saw that Mary had, as promised, sponged and pressed the dull, farmer’s wife serge that she’d worn yesterday. She would wear it for any future scramblings around the countryside, she decided, and save her London wardrobe for indoor activities.

A deep yawn surprised her as she dropped her grubby gown onto the bed, and she realized how exhausted she was after the day’s exertions. But she was also stimulated, mentally energetic, even if her body ached. And she was famished.

The wonderful aroma of roasting meat met her on the stairs as she hurried down to the front parlor. Greville was waiting for her in front of the fire, a glass of wine in his hand. “Wine?”

“Please, although it’ll probably send me straight to
sleep.” She took the glass he handed her. “If I weren’t so ravenous, I’d be asleep by now.” She turned aside to a small table in the window and picked up the sheaf of papers that lay there. A column of words was on one side, a column of numbers on the other.

“What’s this?”

“I thought we’d look at some simple codes after dinner.”

“Ah.” So much for fatigue, Aurelia thought, laying the sheet back on the table. “How well do you know Harry Bonham?”

“Not well at all. We’ve run into each other once or twice,” he answered vaguely.

“In the way of business, I suppose,” she said, watching his expression.

“In the way of business. How long have you known about Bonham’s work for the ministry?”

“Since before he married Nell.” She shrugged and came over to the fire. “We don’t discuss it.”