Betrayal (7 page)

“I’m not at all sure that is possible.”

“Of course it is. Look at how much better you are already. This journey has been good for you, and you fought well at the school.”

“I only shot a few demons with guns and rifles. I would not survive a sword fight or hand-to-hand combat.”

“You crawled across the field and led hunters into battle. You could not have done that a month ago. Say what you like, but I believe you are improving every day.”

“I will not argue with you. I do feel better, just not as I once did.”

It would do no good to point out all the advances he’d made since being poisoned. When he’d first gone to recover in Inverness, he struggled to raise his head from the pillow. “I guess you come from a proper family.”

He laughed. “I suppose we are changing the subject now.”

Shrugging, she watched the road for ruts and holes. “We do not know much about each other beyond that you were injured at Fatum and I worked as a scullery maid before you rescued from me demons. We only ever talk about your injuries.”

“It might be best to leave it at that.”

She yearned to know where he came from and how he came to be the man he is. “Will you not answer?”

They reached a stretch of road pocked with holes and ruts. Reece slowed the horses and did his best to navigate around without damaging a wheel. “My father is a gentleman. He and my mother live in Sussex where I was born.”

“Do you see them?”

He shook his head. “My father disapproves of my choices and does not desire to see me.”

“I do not think that is true.”

“Oh? What do you know of it?” His tone sharpened.

“I heard Mr. Cullum saying so when he contacted your family after you were poisoned, both your parents wanted to come and see you. I had the impression it took quite a bit of convincing for them not to come.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Who? Cullum?”

“Yes. Why would he tell my father anything?” His voice rose to a near shout.

Her heart pounded. “Have I said something I should not have?”

“Answer the question, Elizabeth.”

He only used her full name when he was angry with her. She’d been angry with him a few times, but he rarely seemed concerned about anything. Yet the fact that his parents knew of his condition bothered him. “I suppose because they were afraid you might die.”

“What else did those eavesdropping ears hear?”

She hmphed. “I did not eavesdrop. I simply overheard.”

“No doubt, while hovering outside a door meant to be closed.”

With a shrug, she brushed out her skirts. “I cannot help it if people are lax in closing doors.”

“And what did you hear?” The humor had returned to his voice. He no longer sounded irritated, and a bubble of happiness started in her belly.

“I had the impression your father wanted you brought home to heal, and Cullum had a devil of a time convincing Mr. Foxjohn that you were better off in the hospital. I think he may have gone to Sussex to stave off an invasion by your father and mother.”

“Why did he not tell me?”

“That, I do not know. But he did garner some permission, so I assume the meetings went well.”

“Such as?”

She shook her head. “That would ruin the surprise.”

“I used to think I liked surprises. Now I am not at all sure.”

One thing was certain, she couldn’t stay angry with him.

She closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift.

The carriage slowed and jerked her out of a broken dream filled with demons and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

He pulled off the road toward the last posting house before they would arrive in London.

“Oh, Reece, please can we just go on. It is not very far now. We could wake up in London.” She dozed again never hearing his answer.

He shook her shoulder, “Lizzy, we have arrived. I would carry you over the threshold, but I fear we would both land face down in the street.”

She opened her eyes and yawned. She’d never seen the city come into view. It was unimaginable she could have slept through the carriage rumbling through the rough city streets. She looked into the eyes from her dreams and his sharp features. Behind him loomed a dark townhouse. “I can make it on my own two feet.”

She straightened and climbed down from the carriage with only his hand to steady her. Of course, he only did it for appearances. She required no help to get down from the carriage. Still it was a nice opportunity to touch his hand, and the warmth of his flesh spread through her fingertips, down to her toes, and every inch in-between. If only she could hold on forever, but the touch ended as soon as she was safely on the ground.

“This is a very ungentlemanly hour to be arriving. We should have stopped at the last posting house.”

“You could have done just that after I fell back to sleep.”

He bowed. “What can I say, I can deny you nothing.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Oh, but just think of how nice it will be to wake up in your own bed. Besides, this is your house. You need not be embarrassed about the hour.”

“Technically, this is my father’s house. I use it because he does not.”

She waved off the comment and waited for him to apply the knocker.

The door opened, revealing a butler of middle years. He wore a robe and a sleepy expression. His sparse hair stood up straight and he hunched. “Sir, it’s good to see you. I did not expect you this evening.”

“I apologize, Garvey. My companion was anxious to be back in London.”

The butler bowed to Elizabeth. “Miss Smyth, I’m pleased you are here. The staff is at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Garvey.”

Reece said, “Why do I have the impression you two are not strangers.”

“Miss Smyth has been kind enough to send several letters in the past few weeks.”

She knew Reece stared at her without looking, but she did anyway, and his brows narrowed on her. “Has she?”

“Indeed, sir.”

Reece’s stare should have been intimidating, but her stomach tightened for an entirely different reason. “I had some business here, and Garvey was kind enough to assist.”

Garvey cleared his throat. “Your rooms are ready. Mrs. Willis had them cleaned and readied in case you were early. If you would like to bathe, I can wake the footmen and have the tubs and water brought up.”

“No. Thank you, Garvey. We shall let the house sleep and take care of our other needs tomorrow.”

“Very good, sir. We have put Miss Smyth in the rose room.”

“Go back to bed. I will show her the way.”

The butler bowed and left them standing in the foyer.

It felt intimate being alone with Reece in his house with only one candelabrum to light their way. “Is something wrong?”

He picked up the light and started up the steps. “No. I’m fine.”

“You do not look fine.”

“I am tired. That is all.” The circles under his eyes confirmed some truth, but his mouth was set in a tight line. Maybe he was angry because she had contacted his staff without him knowing. Quite a lot about Reece Foxjohn remained a mystery to her.

At the top of the stairs, she followed him to the left, down a hall, then another. He opened a door and stepped inside. “I will leave the light with you.”

“Will you not need it to find your own bed?” She stepped close enough to feel his warmth, and her desire bloomed once again. What was it about him?

He stepped back. “It is just down the hall. I know the way in my sleep. It has been my room since childhood.”

“You do not use the master suite?”

The flickering candlelight flashed in his eyes. “Those are my father’s rooms, and while he never comes to London, I respect this is still his house.”

“Of course. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. Good night, Lizzy. If you need anything, my room is just around the corner on the left.” He stepped into the dark hallway and closed the door behind him.

He had said his father lorded over this house, but he acted the part himself. His demeanor had changed in the few minutes they’d been in his home. A cool distance settled between them. Maybe her imagination had gotten the better of her. Maybe she too was just tired.

His footsteps faded until the gentle closing of a door silenced them. Too tired to think of anything, she divested herself of her clothes and weapons, climbed into the soft bed, and sank into the pillow.

* * * *

Sunlight streamed through the window. Heavy curtains of rose damask surrounded the bed, but she had not drawn them closed. She blinked the room into focus. Pinks and the palest yellow made the chamber decidedly feminine. A thick rug warmed the floor, and the writing desk was equipped with quill and ink. Warmer days made it unnecessary for a fire in the hearth, and she had not opened the window, leaving the room stuffy.

Once she coaxed herself from the soft mattress, she pulled open the large window and breathed in the chill morning air. A light drizzle cooled the morning. Home. London was all she had known until a year before. Since then, her world had expanded beyond her wildest dreams and nightmares.

A knock startled her out of her reverie.

“Yes, who is it?”

The door opened and the blond head of a girl no more than seventeen poked through. She had rosy cheeks and an easy smile. “I’m Nancy, my lady. I can help you dress if you like.”

“That will not be necessary, Nancy. Please call me Elizabeth. I am no lady.”

The girl’s eyes widened to fill her face. “As you wish, Miss Elizabeth. Do you need anything?”

Elizabeth looked at the washbasin, clothes, and soap. “No. I would love a bath this afternoon, if that can be arranged.”

Relief spread across Nancy’s face. “I’ll see to it, miss.”

Once Nancy had gathered the laundry, she left.

Elizabeth took care of her personal needs, dressed, and headed downstairs.

She found Reece standing in front of an opened double door with his arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown creasing his face.

“What have you done to the ballroom?”

“I did glean permission.”

“This is what my father agreed to?”

Her heart lodged in her throat. The room had several crystal chandeliers and expensive looking drapery. Trimmed in gold, the vaulted ceiling rose at least twenty feet, and Elizabeth would not have been surprised to learn that it was in fact real gold. Those were the only remnants of the ballrooms previous state of grace. It had been equipped with a punching bag and assorted boxing equipment, a floor cushion for hand-to-hand practice, a board made of slate generally used for musical compositions. She had a notion to put it to good use in Reece’s training. Racks of swords and knives lined one side of the enormous room, and one entire wall had been cushioned and set up with throwing targets.

“I’m not exactly sure what your father expected. I was told we had permission to make any changes necessary to get you back to good health. This is what we need to do it.” She pulled her shoulders back and pushed her chin out in what she hoped was a strong, I-will-not-back-down look.

He looked her up and down. She had put on trousers and a blouse, which she belted at the waist. Not a very ladylike look, but it would do for a training session.

“You arranged all this?”

“With the help of your remarkable butler and staff.”

“Amazing.” He stepped inside the room and went to the armory. He pulled a sword out of the rack.

“I do not think you are quite ready to take me on with a sword, Reece. Let’s go to the boxing and get you a bit stronger before we risk sharp objects.”

He made an ugly stance with the sword. With his arm too low and his stance too high, he parried awkwardly and sloppy. With a sigh, he let the blade tip rest on the floor before putting it away. “It would seem you are correct. I defer to your training schedule.”

“You are saying that I’m in charge?” Giddiness bubbled inside her.

He bowed. “You are my instructor for the time being.”

She clapped her hands. “Wonderful. Let’s go find something to break our fast. I’m starving.”

He burst out laughing. “An excellent idea. I’m sure food has been prepared for us.”

After a hearty meal of coddled eggs and meats, they took a walk in the garden.

“Is this your idea of training? How long are we to walk in the London drizzle?”

“Do not be so cross, Reece. You cannot begin too fast on a full stomach, and a little rain will not kill you. Besides, the walking will strengthen your legs and stamina.” She threaded her arm through his elbow, and they continued down the path to a large garden. They were quite far from the house within a maze of plants and blooms. A nagging headache began in spite of the serene setting.

Reece tugged her arm, stopping her dead.

She pulled away and searched the area for whatever threat had caused his abrupt stop. “What is it?”

He pointed toward the path in front of them.

Her heart stopped beating or at least drawing breath became impossible. A stone, carved with a distorted fleur-de-lis lay in the path. It struck fear through her heart. The ache spread to her temple, and she squinted against it. “The symbol of the master, here, but how?”

His face and neck burned red. “I intend to find out.”

Reece stormed away, leaving her to chase after him. “Where are we going?”

“To find the gardener.”

The gardener, Mr. Homes, puttered inside his shed with flats of small plants. He stooped and winced. His gray hair was sparse and his knuckles bulged.

“What the hell is on my garden path, Homes?”

The gardener stumbled back, knocking over several plants on the bench. His eyes widened before he narrowed them on his employer. “I have no idea what you might mean, sir. I walked over the path just yesterday afternoon and nothing was amiss.”

“Well, something is amiss now, and I want an explanation.”

Homes righted the plants and turned toward the door. He hobbled down the path, and they followed until he too stopped abruptly over the symbol of the master. “This was not here yesterday, sir. I swear it on mi life. I’d never have left this here.”

Reece looked around and ran his fingers through his dark blond hair. “Then the property has been breached and recently.”