At Your Pleasure (35 page)

“Not so happy,” she said sharply.

The manufactured sympathy on his face did not suit him. “I will leave you,” he said, and put his heels into his horse, riding around and past.

Braddock, too, pulled up short, providing her a space of privacy for which she sent him a grateful look as she rode up to David’s side.

Her brother fixed her with a steady look from gray eyes very like her own—but darkened, perhaps, by an accusation. He had their mother’s coloring, as she did, but in his bones he took after their father. She had never resented the resemblance before today.

“Lady sister,” he said, “you look more tired than I feel. How so?”

“I suppose it is grief that wears me,” she said. “And regret, and shame. Better to ask yourself wherefore you can smile.”

His square jaw worked as though he chewed over his next words. “Shame, indeed,” he said at length. “I have yet to come to an accounting of how you married the man who would see me dead. Even Lord John has no story for it. ”

Astonishment briefly paralyzed her tongue. Rage resuscitated it. “I will teach you the cause of my shame,” she bit out, “for you own a full measure of it yourself! You put Hodderby to the flames! What demon possessed you? Where is
your
shame, David?”

“This is war. There will be losses—”

“The war is
over
! Over almost before it had begun. Preston has fallen; Scotland is put down. And whence the gain from your idiocy? What army was defeated when Hodderby burned?”

“Enough!” he snapped. “Hodderby is my own! If I sowed the fields with salt, it would still be within my right!”

Oh, but she recognized this clipped tone. Their father in France had been tutoring him in arrogance. “That you have any estate to your name is owed to
me
. I persuaded Towe to lobby for your inheritance. Did you think he was eager to argue for you?
My
administration kept Hodderby running when its profits had been squandered on weaponry. Or did you imagine it was easy to maintain an estate with empty coffers?” Her laugh scraped in her throat. “If I could live that history again, David, I would give you an education. Perhaps if I could undo my efforts, Hodderby would still stand whole!”

He caught her arm. “Leo. What is this? I came back for
you
. How can you speak to me so? I set off the powder for
you
. Or was I to abandon you to his clutches? Tell me, how else was I to save you?”

She wrenched free, and her startled horse shied beneath her. “How brotherly you are,” she said, reining her horse tight. “What consideration you show me! Did the same tender affection prompt you to promise my hand without my consent? How glad I was to learn the news from Cosmo!”

He scowled. “You had said you would consider him—”

“
Consider!
I did not say I
consented
!”

“But you would have.” He pushed a hand over the dark stubble on his jaw, then lifted it away to show her his teeth. “But I reckon how it transpires. You grew hot for that whoreson, didn’t you?”

“Hold your tongue,” she hissed.

“Aye, he always knew how to get under your skirts. Twisted your brain and corrupted your allegiances, did he? By God, I should have known that dog would come sniffing again! To think he dared to aim so high—and you, Leo! Where is your honor? To go against your family—”

“I aided you,” she said through her teeth, “in every way I could. I aided you beyond good sense and all reason. Consider, brother, what a reward I received for it: to watch Hodderby be ruined. You say I go against the family? Very well! I am glad to do it now. I am done with your cause, I tell you.”

She reined her horse away, furious with him. But—bitterly she knew it—he was not the only one to blame here. If he had crossed a line, then she had made it possible for him to do so. She would never forgive herself the consequences.

“You’re right.”

The admission startled her. She turned back, eyeing him warily.

He nudged his horse forward so they sat mounted knee to knee. Reaching for her hand, he squeezed it lightly.

She looked at where he touched her, then pointedly lifted her gaze to his.

He grimaced. “Leo . . .” Now he leaned forward, cajoling.
“Forgive me, sis. I was wrong to question your loyalty. And my strategy, I admit, was . . . foolhardy. But, by God—I was panicked! How not? You see . . . I’d left something very precious at Hodderby.” He offered her a lopsided smile. “You may know her.”

For one moment, his charm muted her turmoil. She recalled with a pang what it had ever meant to be his sister: to have his laughing attention, his support and encouragement, the warmth their father had never provided.

“Oh, David.” Tears pricked her eyes. “You never should have come back. I did not require rescuing.”

He shook his head. “Colvilles do not abandon their own.”

“But I am a Ferrers now.”

He winced. “I accept the blame for it. I should have been there to protect you. But I will atone, Leo. I will kill him for you.”

Calm like ice descended on her. She withdrew her hand from his. “How easily you speak of killing.” In France, it seemed, their father had been teaching him stubbornness—and cultivating his natural immunity to female opinion, besides. “But you must accept facts. My husband will not let you slip. You are for trial now, and the Tower.” The very name of that place sickened her; it seemed, in her mouth, to be coated with blood.

He nudged his horse closer yet, so its head came up against her mount’s flank. In her ear, he murmured, “And I tell you, Leo, I will surprise you.”

She jerked back. “How do you mean?”

“I have plans.”

The fervent note in his voice chilled her.
Plans!
Was there no end to his visions? “Are you mad? It is
over
! They intercepted your shipment of arms, David! And the gunpowder—you are caught! Your only hope now is for imprisonment rather than death!”

“You do not sound so mournful for it!”

“Do not—” She stopped herself, folding her lips, breathing hard. But no—why should she stop herself? “Do not
dare
impugn my love for you. I have proved it time and again.”

“Love is well and good,” he said sharply. “But where is your loyalty? Do I have it?
That
is what I need to know.”

He spoke as though her loyalty were worth aught. How could he not see the truth? “I would move heaven and earth to spare you,” she said hoarsely. “But the money I might have spent on bribes was put to your arms. And my husband—he will not even speak to me, and I . . .”

I fear I will have to watch you die.

She made herself reach again for David’s hand. He did not resist it, watching narrowly as she lifted and kissed his dirty knuckles. This
was
her brother: tall, lanky, unshaven, his eyes feverish, but not, by the feel of his flesh, from any physical ailment. He was on fire for some vision she had never been able to see. She had seen only
him—
and tried to do her duty by him, to repay his past kindness as love and kinship demanded.

“You are still a Colville, then,” he said.

She sighed. Such arguments wasted what little time remained to them. “Someone is caring for you,” she said
instead. She laid his hand back on his pommel as she looked him over. His clothing was soiled but his bandages were fresh.

He gave her a queer smile. “One wonders why they bother if they mean to behead me in the fortnight.”

“Perhaps—” She could not bear to surrender all hope. “Should the king grant you mercy—my husband’s order now is only to imprison you, and others have survived the Tower—”

His laughter silenced her. “Oh, dear sister.” He chucked her chin. “Dear, foolish Leo. Go, ride ahead now. Dream your silly dreams, and trust in me to find a way to make you happy.”

His mockery was like a slap. She held his eyes and made her voice cutting. “Love you have from me, David. But trust? It burned with Hodderby. If you die, I will mourn you for the rest of my life. But I will never tell another soul that your actions were just.”

She turned her horse then and rode forward. Like her husband, she did not look back.

20

I
n the far corner of the taproom, a chair crashed against the floor as two men leapt up to brawl. Raucous cheers swept the room. Braddock and Henslow slammed down their tankards to join the fray; the barmaid, hovering by Lord John, abandoned flirtation mid-syllable to trail after them.

Lord John heaved a loud sigh as he watched her go. “I will be most glad,” he said, “to pass tomorrow night at Manston House.”

It was not the first time he had observed this. Adrian himself had no pressing desire to sleep in the bosom of Lord John’s family, but the manor lay direct on the path to town, so he would allow it. There were members of his party who would benefit from a good bed.

As for the Lamb’s Head, it offered other advantages, most notably the low crowd to which it catered. Its inn-keep—now screaming at the brawlers, who rolled across his floor as bystanders jeered—was not much interested
in his patrons, neither for their journeys nor their comfort. A year’s worth of grease encrusted the table, and decades of smoke blackened the low-beamed roof. Its blowsy barmaids showed no curiosity beyond what could win them a coin, and its clientele verged closely on a mob.

It was the mob whose opinion most interested Adrian. They were but two days’ distance from the capital now, and the banter that had sparked the fight provided every answer he’d required. These travelers were abuzz with anticipation of a public execution for the man who, unbeknownst to them, was locked upstairs under the watchful eyes of Adrian’s men. With the uprising crushed but the majority of its rebels imprisoned in the north, the south longed for a vengeful show of its own.

Nora thought she knew what awaited her brother. She imagined, perhaps, that she would have weeks, even months, to try to win mercy for him. But his trial would be little better than an entertainment offered to the public to satisfy its bloodlust. David Colville would be dead within the month.

This is not my concern
.

A table crashed on its side, showering ale across the spectators. Lord John cursed and sprang to his feet, dashing his sleeve over his eyes. “Damn these rustics!” As he lowered his hand, he jerked. “By God!” He shoved his arm in Adrian’s face. “Look! Some ass’s head has stolen my rings!”

Adrian lifted a brow at the sight of the boy’s naked fingers. “A skilled thief, then.”

“I have a mind to search this company!”

A crash went up from the other side of the room: the brawlers had knocked over another table.

“As you wish,” Adrian drawled. “They seem a compliant lot.”

After a moment of visible indecision, the boy hissed a breath through his teeth and yanked down his jacket. “No,” he muttered, “no. Let them enjoy their misbegotten gains. And God curse them for it!” Stiffly he bowed to Adrian. “By your leave, I’ll withdraw.”

Adrian lifted his drink in farewell, then took a long swallow to mark Lord John’s stalking retreat. For lack of larger joys, these small victories must be celebrated zealously.

The brew was dark and strong, briny like seawater. He checked himself when he would have sipped again. It was an unwise impulse to blur his mind. He would make his decisions soberly and coldly. He would relocate that place within him where choices seemed simple, unshaded by any thought of her.

He would unlearn this damned talent at seeing through her eyes.

She had wanted to speak with him earlier this evening. Had tried to stay him when he took his leave. But he had ignored her. To give her an opportunity for explanations or pleas would be pointless, painful to both of them. He already knew what must be done.

A hiss went up. “There’s a fine piece,” crowed some wag at the next table. He followed the man’s look and a curse tore from him. She stood in the doorway, showing
less sense than a dormouse. At least that creature, looking in upon this chaos, would know to stay hidden.

Instead, eyes rounding, she surveyed the scene—and then saw him, and firmed her jaw, and started into the fray.

He was on his feet instantly, despite the darker impulse that seized him: to let her taste the consequences of her actions. She was determined to set her own course and walk it without care for where it led her. Why not let her confront for herself the troubles her mulish pursuit would encounter?

But what a joke he was. He could sit here mustering indifference for hours, yet one glimpse of her broke his resolve. By God, the leers she collected as she wove toward him scraped his temper like flint. He knocked people aside, ignoring their shouts of complaint as he advanced on her. Stupid little fool! Did she imagine this rowdy lot would not take an interest? In her riding habit of rose wool, only half-spattered by the road, she looked provocatively misplaced. The fresh purity of her skin, the sleek shining crest of her uncovered black hair, the grave composure with which she endured the buffeting of passersby, even the coolness of her gray eyes acted as a goad. Adrian felt the effect himself: fragile things, delicacies that held themselves far above commonplace life, did not engender respectful admiration. Rather, they churned up a greedy sort of hunger, one that lured a man to smash what he could not have.