A Love Laid Bare (2 page)

He halted at the bottom of the shallow flight of
front steps and eyed the building critically. The exterior was
sound and the slightly askew tower in the center gave the building
a rather charmingly unique character. The tower was all that
remained of the original keep.

Frances had loved it on sight. She had talked of
putting a study in the room on the second level, but for some
reason it never happened. Nor had the place been redecorated, which
it sorely needed. It was something he had expected Frances to do.
Halcombe shook aside the thought and ran up the steps. He spent far
too much time dwelling on the past.

“You have a guest waiting to see you, my lord.”

There was nothing in Benson’s careful expression to
indicate an opinion of any kind, but Halcombe knew the man well. It
was obvious that the butler did not approve of this guest, and the
earl raised an eyebrow in question.

“Lady Merton,” the butler said stiffly.

Hell, what was Victoria doing here?
She knew
better than to call on a single man and he would bet a monkey she
was here without her maid. His jaw tightened. The woman delighted
in flouting convention. He had suffered through enough gossip and
did not appreciate being involved in any of her nonsense.

She stood motionless, her perfect face bathed in the
sunlight that streamed through the large window and though he was
sure her stance was deliberate, it was an effort for him to remain
impassive. He knew her to be close to his age, but she was still
impossibly beautiful—flawless skin as creamy as the finest ivory,
hair like spun gold—and a voluptuous figure that had a man itching
to bed her. She was also totally self-centered, ruthless and had
the instincts of a viper, something it had taken him a long time to
learn.

“Victoria. I thought you fixed in London for the
season.” Halcombe crossed the room and halted a short distance from
her.

She shrugged and glided forward. “I was bored. The
same tiresome people, doing the same tiresome things.”

“You expect life in the country to be less tedious?”
He did not try to disguise his disbelief, and the flick of anger in
her eyes told him the barb had hit home.

“I thought you might be glad to see me.” She raised a
languid hand to brush her fingers along his rigid jaw. “I am glad
to see
you
.”

The breathy whisper stirred him in spite of his
efforts. He caught her hand in a tight grip. “What do you want?
Surely you have some reason to be here, the ‘most boring place in
the world’ I think you once said.”

She swayed toward him, a pleading expression in her
blue eyes. “I want you, Richard. I’ve always wanted you. Fate has
kept us apart for so long. Now that we are both free, it’s
time…”

“It is time for you to go, Lady Merton. Come, I will
walk you to your carriage.”

He settled his expression into one of weary patience
and even with that it seemed she might balk, but other than the
narrow-eyed look she gave him, she made no protest.

“I see this is a not a good moment for you. Perhaps
you will come to a dinner party I am holding next week,” she said
smoothly as they walked to the door.

Halcombe handed her into her carriage and stepped
back. “I believe I am unavailable next week, but thank you for the
invitation.” It was a thinly veiled insult and the look she gave
him was cold enough to give him pause.
Fool to make an enemy of
her, no matter how you feel.
He forced a smile and bowed.
“Perhaps another time. Good day, madam.”

“Perhaps,” she murmured with a regal nod and turned
her face away.

He waved a hand at the coachman to proceed and
watched until the vehicle was out of sight. Would he ever finish
paying for his infatuation with her? A young man’s folly that he
sorely regretted.

Returning to the house, Halcombe went into his study
and picked up the handful of envelopes on his desk. Bills, for the
most part, a few invitations, and several letters that appeared to
be personal. He scanned through the missive from his steward at
Clifftop first. All Frances’ belongings were boxed up and should
arrive here within the week. He must remember to tell Benson to
ready some storage. The other letter he carried over to a window.
He braced one foot on the low stone embrasure and broke open the
seal. Colin Hunter. Halcombe had not heard from his closest friend
in several months, something that was neither unusual nor
necessarily a bad thing, since the Viscount Summerton had a habit
of pulling him into one scheme or another.

Richard,

I know you have been dashing around the countryside
putting things to rights, but by now you should have everything
ship-shape enough to get away for a few days. I need you, my
friend, for a special project. I assure you it is extremely
important or I would not call on you for help. I’d prefer our
meeting go unnoticed, so I will not invite you to stay with me as I
would prefer. Come as soon as possible.

Colin

The earl folded the paper and tapped it on his hand
while he thought about the summons—and it was that, however
politely worded. Summerton had his fingers in more than one pot.
Halcombe was not sure just what position the man held, but he knew
the viscount was deeply involved in the government. Well, he owed
him too much to refuse and the timing was right. It gave him an
excuse to avoid Victoria, it resolved the problem of his mother,
who had been badgering him to visit, and it took him away before
the shipment of books arrived from Clifftop. He wanted to be free
of Frances and any reminders of her.

Halcombe laughed shortly. He would never be free of
Frances. Not while he still pictured her curled up in his library
chair engrossed in some book, or striding across his fields in that
ridiculous sunbonnet, a dog or two trotting beside her
.
He
had been too much the fool to know what he had had until it was
gone. If he ever did remarry—and it would
not
be to
Victoria—he would take care to cherish any affection that might be
offered.

He tore the letter into pieces, tossed them onto the
cold hearth, and set them ablaze with a spark from his flint.
You are getting as paranoid as Colin.
He scowled, stirred
the ashes with the heel of his boot, and went to make arrangements
for the journey.

London was dirtier, noisier, and more crowded than
usual, or so it seemed to Halcombe as he guided his team along the
busy streets. It was a relief to reach his mother’s house.
His
house, more accurately, as it was part of the estate,
although he seldom came to Town these days. He preferred country
life—and avoiding his mother as much as possible. She was only
happy here in the city, immersed in the endless social round, and
if it kept her here, she was welcome to the house. He wished he had
packed her off to Town when he’d brought his bride home.
Leticia—never anything as uncouth as Letty—had strongly disapproved
of Frances and had gone out of her way to make her daughter-in-law
feel unwelcome.

The earl turned his rig over to the groom, mounted
the steps, and knocked on the door. It was not worth the scold that
would ensue if he let himself in and that starched-up butler of
hers would be sure to tell her. But a footman opened the door, not
Mason, and Halcombe cocked his head in question.

“Lady Halcombe has guests, my lord.” The soft-spoken
servant took his hat, gloves and cape and stepped back. “They are
in the drawing room, if you care to join them.”

“No, I am going out directly after I change. Peters,
isn’t it?” Halcombe’s voice was equally low. At the man’s nod, he
went on, “Send someone up with some hot water and arrange for a
hackney to pick me up in a half hour. Oh, and Peters, I won’t be in
for dinner. Have Mason inform Lady Halcombe I will see her in the
morning.” He walked to the stairs.
Now to get in and out before
the fact of his arrival traveled through the house and reached his
mother.
Craven it may be, but he had no desire to socialize
with a room full of women whose sole source of entertainment
appeared to be gossip.

***

Halcombe had the cab driver set him down a few blocks
from his destination and he walked swiftly along the sidewalk. The
high, iron gate that lead into the small garden of Summerton’s
house was unlocked. He went through and around to a side door and
knocked. The door opened almost immediately. A plainly dressed,
unobtrusive man gestured for him to enter, bowed gravely, and
turned around without saying a word. Halcombe followed his escort
through a narrow corridor and up the servants’ stairs. Summerton’s
was a bachelor establishment—the staff was small, well trained and
discreet. He was surprised to see his host seated at his desk, a
glass of wine at his elbow. Colin’s schedule was frequently
uncertain and Halcombe had been prepared to wait.

“You are earlier than I’d expected.” The viscount
stood, walked across the room and greeted Halcombe with a handshake
and hearty clap on the shoulder. “I appreciate you coming so
quickly. You appear quite fit.”

Halcombe gripped his hand and punched him lightly on
the arm. “You, my friend, look as if you have had too many late
nights.” He smiled. “It’s good to see you, even if you did drag me
from the country for one of your crazy schemes.”

“Does you good to venture out of that rut you’ve made
for yourself.” Summerton stepped back, gestured at a chair by the
fire, and went over to pick up his glass. He held it up and raised
his eyebrows. “Some port?” At Halcombe’s nod of agreement, he moved
to the sideboard and unstopped a decanter.

Halcombe took the chair indicated and used the
opportunity to study the other man. Friends since their school
days, they were close in age, but at six feet, Summerton topped him
by several inches. His light brown hair was cut in one of those
fashionable styles Halcombe never remembered the name of and faint
lines rayed from the corners of his changeable hazel eyes.

They put too much on his shoulders, the men who
fought the war from their government offices. Summerton needed a
wife, a family, but it appeared the tragic death of his young bride
still haunted him. Halcombe knew not to broach the subject.

He shook off the gloomy thoughts, accepted the
offered glass, and took a taste of the ruby-red liquid. “Very nice.
I hope you have laid down a few bottles for my next visit.”

“I’ve laid down several cases, in fact,” Summerton
said with a smile. He sat in a nearby chair and stretched out his
legs. “Gad, it feels good to relax. It has been a long day.”

“I have a feeling all your days are overly long. You
should try to get away for a time,” Halcombe suggested.

“That is not possible, I’m afraid. There is too much
going on to leave Town right now. This cursed war. And Bryce is
abroad on a special…project…at the moment.” He shrugged, took a sip
of his wine, and looked questioningly at Halcombe. “Dinner first,
or the details of my ‘crazy scheme’ as you put it earlier?”

The earl knew better than to ask for details of any
venture Harry Bryce was involved in. Colin’s trusted secretary was
often hip deep some covert action. Richard set aside his glass. “By
all means, business first, since it is bound to ruin my
digestion.”

“It is not as bad as that,” Summerton said dryly. He
emptied his glass, placed it on the low table between them and
tented his fingers in front of him. “It is nothing onerous at
all—on your part.” He grinned at the skeptical look Halcombe gave
him and shook his head. “Truly, it is nothing terribly difficult. I
would not ask it of you if it was not important. There are few
people I can trust with this kind of information these days.” He
paused, his eyes narrowed, and then he waved his hand as if to
clear the air.

“Have you noticed or heard of any increase in
smuggling in your area over the past few months?”

Completely caught off guard at this unexpected topic,
the earl frowned. “Nothing that has come to my attention, but that
is not out of the ordinary. It goes on, of course, but as long as
it remains at a low level, it is generally ignored. The Manor is
some distance inland, as you are aware, and we have never had much
involvement.” He grinned. “No kegs on the doorstep, if that’s what
you are implying.”

Summerton smiled, but worry appeared in his eyes.
“No, I did not think that, but you are in a position to hear
things, and you are not that far from the coast. Lately, there have
been rumors that more than brandy is coming ashore.”

“Indeed, and that would be…?” Halcombe had a
suspicion, unlikely as it seemed, but he still experienced a shock
of disbelief at the terse answer.

“Men. Frenchmen, to be exact.”

“Do you mean
spies
? Coming ashore in Sussex?
For what reason? They’d stick out like a sore thumb, which I
imagine is the exact opposite of what they would want.”

“Not spies,” Summerton said with a mirthless laugh.
“Agents, whose job it is to make contacts here who will ferret out
information for them to send back to France.” He sounded unusually
grave. “They have deep pockets and money is a great persuader.”

“As I well know,” Halcombe said. He was a perfect
example of allowing need to overcome conscience. Halcombe’s bitter
tone and sour expression earned him a quick, curious glance, but
the viscount made no comment.

“We’ve had some indication that this is occurring in
your part of the country. You know the area—know those likely to be
involved, if there
is
any basis to it.” He paused, and then
added in a level tone, “Your…Lady Halcombe’s property is directly
on the coast, is it not?”

“It is,” Halcombe said curtly, “but I don’t believe
Nesbitt had anything to do with any smuggling. And I plan to let it
out soon, so if there is any unusual activity around there, it will
stop once there are tenants about.”