Clandestine (15 page)

“So she begged you for whatever funds you could spare and you were happy to help, even though it meant you had to forgo any holidays.”

“Several charity girls live with us year-round. It's no hardship to remain in Bath with them for the summers.”

He broke off an orchid, then snapped the stem over and over, until he held nothing but petals.

“And what of your future, ma'am? You've set aside nothing for yourself? Instead, you sent your handful of extra guineas to your cousin every payday, so she could purchase a new silk dress, or an ivory fan, or the very best shoes.”

“Rachel never thought she'd have to work, Mr. Devoran, so it was harder for her. Her life was once nothing but parties and flirtation, but when her parents died so very deeply in debt, her suitors melted away like snow.”

“She had an understanding with one man in particular?”

“No real understanding, no, but several gentlemen had trailed after her like puppies and she thought she'd be able to choose between them. I believe she faced her fate with great courage when they all disappeared.”

“It was
courage
that allowed a spoiled girl to rob you of your future security? What the devil urge to self-sacrifice made you concede to her demands?”

Though the blood rushed from her face, Sarah surged to her feet. She wanted to strike him.

“You think I'm a fool to love my cousin, sir?”

“God, no!” Shredded petals rained into the lush heart of a white orchid as he spun about. “I think I cannot bear the presence of so much damned nobility, Mrs. Callaway!”

H
E SENT HER A BRIEF NOTE OF APOLOGY
. O
NLY FIVE LINES.
Expressed gracefully and sincerely and with genuine shame.

The grate in Ryder's study was filled with the ashes of all his first drafts.

As soon as the footman disappeared with the note, Guy kicked his feet up onto the desk and leaned back to stare at the ceiling, his chair precariously balanced on two legs.

Then I should like to come, too, if it could be arranged with propriety.

No! Never! He must send her to Wyldshay first thing in the morning. Miracle would take care of her, and he would never again have to face that honest gaze and be confronted by his own perfidy. Especially since he had discovered just enough to be genuinely concerned for her safety.

Guy had no idea of Daedalus's identity, but he was damned sure now that the man could be dangerous.

Yet as he had marched through the glasshouse—taking a shortcut from the stables—Sarah had glanced up and pinned him to the heart.

In the silver light her hair had darkened to a deep russet confection of plaits wrapped about her delicate skull. Pale amber lashes fringed her clear hazel eyes. Then that warm, sensuous color had flooded up her cheeks, and for a moment he had forgotten all of his subterfuge and dishonor, and found himself face-to-face with the shock of his desire.

He had covered it, as best as he could, until the end he had lashed out in anger.

Yet he could hardly be petty enough to criticize Sarah Callaway for doing exactly what he would have done,
had
done, by sacrificing everything to help a cousin she loved. Neither Ryder nor Jack would be happily married now if Guy Devoran had not dropped everything in his own life whenever his cousins had truly needed him.

Guy exploded to his feet, letting the chair fall with a crash.

Sarah would read his note of apology and accept it at face value. She need never know that when Rachel had turned up weeping on his doorstep and begged for his aid, he had seduced that frail, broken songbird and set her up as his mistress in the house with the top-hatted chimneys.

Thus Sarah would never need to suspect that Daedalus might be Guy Devoran, though she would still, with any luck, despise him.

That would make it a great deal easier to send her away.

G
UY
strode into the blue drawing room the next morning with renewed determination. Sarah Callaway rose and curtsied. That entrancing blush washed over her cheeks, and she glanced down as if his gaze burned her.

“Good morning!” He bowed with formal elegance. “I trust you received—”

“No, please don't apologize again, sir! You were absolutely correct. Though my position with Miss Farcey has always felt quite secure—”

“No,” he said. “I spoke entirely out of turn.”

“I thought that Rachel was unhappy and longing for a little frippery. So you were right. It was foolish of me to risk my own security, when I didn't know yet that she must have actually needed the money for necessities. But that was the case in the end, wasn't it, especially when she fled Daedalus?”

Guy swallowed. Rachel had certainly loved luxury, but she had not been in need of funds when she left his house in Hampstead.

“You're very generous,” he said. “Yet I only came to say good-bye. There's more business I need to attend to here in town, so I've ordered a coach to take you down to Wyldshay.”

“To stay with the Duke and Duchess of Blackdown?”

“It's Miracle's home, as well. And, as it happens, Ryder and Jack are cursed with three younger sisters, who'd no doubt love to learn a little extra botany and dancing and geography. You may spend the summer within the walls of the most impregnable castle in England—and one of the most beautiful.”

In a rustle of skirts Sarah walked to the window. Rain streamed down the panes.

Her nape was both graceful and vulnerable as she stared at the meandering rivulets on the glass. Straggles of red hair caressed the intimate curves of her neck and ear. He suppressed the urge to stride up to her to brush them aside—though his fingertips burned.

“Wyldshay's white towers float in a lake in a river,” she said quietly, “or so they say, rather like Avalon.”

“And St. George and his dragons snarl from every wall and fireplace and half of the tapestries.” He did his best to keep his voice light. “However, the best of modern comfort softens that heart of medieval stone. It's especially lovely in July.”

“I don't doubt it,” she said. “Yet I don't believe I shall go.”

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Guy strode across and flung it open. Paul held out a silver tray containing a small package.

“One of the lads brought this over from Brockton's Hotel just now, sir,” he said. “He managed to intercept it in time to pay the charges.”

Guy glanced once at the postmark and the handwriting on the cover, then turned to face Sarah. He felt clear and cold, as if he were out shooting on a frosty morning in November.

“It's from Plymouth, from Rachel,” he said. “Would you prefer that I leave?”

Her face was very white. “No! No, you're welcome to stay, sir, of course.”

Guy paced the edge of the room, his pulse hammering, as Sarah carried the package back to her chair and tore it open. She read in silence for a few minutes.

At last she looked up. Her freckles marked her white skin as if fragments of broken seashell had been abandoned by a retreating tide.

“Rachel's living, or rather hiding, on Dartmoor. She doesn't say why or where, but she's sure that she's quite safe now.” Sarah brushed her fingers over her mouth. “She says she couldn't wait for me, because it had become too dangerous for her to remain in London any longer.”

“In what way?”

“There were accidents. A carriage almost ran her down. Part of a brick wall suddenly collapsed, barely missing her as she walked by. A robber with a knife threatened her on the street, but a group of gentlemen happened to come by and the ruffian ran away.” Pink fired around her nostrils, as if she held back tears. “Daedalus was trying to kill her.”

“No,” he said. “He was only trying to frighten her.”

She leaped to her feet. “You already knew about these attacks?”

Guy stopped, his concentration as acute as if partridges had suddenly burst from cover and he must decide where to aim.

“Yes,” he said. “Most of them. Not all of the details, perhaps, though I've been investigating this exact issue all morning. May I read that?”

“Keep it, if you like!” Her fingers trembled as Sarah set the letter on the table and turned away. Her shoulders seemed painfully fragile beneath the knot of red hair. “Every word is already engraved on my memory.”

Guy read rapidly—several pages of valuable new details—though his heart burned at Sarah's obvious distress.

“Is this why you wish to send me to a castle surrounded by water?” she asked.

Desperate to comfort her, he thrust Rachel's letter unfinished into a pocket. Time to analyze the rest later.

“Yes. I discovered some of it that first day, after you and I met in that bookstore, then more the next day. Jack helped—just enough to heighten my worst fears.”

She walked back to the window. “So there really was a tiger in the glasshouse?”

Guy stalked up and down the carpet. He was still balanced on that keen blade of exact truth, trying not to reveal his own vulnerability.

“If you like. Jack and I certainly feared then that someone was trying to murder your cousin. Fortunately, now I'm absolutely certain that her death was never his intent.”

Sarah sank onto the window seat, her profile bright against the gray day outside, as if her red hair were the flame of the world.

“And you chose to hide all of this from me?”

“Of course! There might have been danger to you, also—there still may be.”

“That seems highly unlikely,” she said. “Daedalus can't even know that I exist.”

“Devil take it, ma'am! I will not take that risk. Whether or not Rachel's death was his aim, if a rejected admirer is indeed behind such attacks, he must be a madman.”

“So you will send me down to Wyldshay?”

“Yes, of course! Fortunately, no one in their right mind would turn down the chance to go there.”

She exploded from the seat. “Then obviously I'm not in my right mind! For whether you wish it or not, I shall immediately go down to Plymouth after Rachel. However long it may take, I won't leave any stone unturned until I find her.”

“I will not allow that,” he said.

High color flooded her cheeks. “I really fail to see how you can stop me, sir.”

It was a card he hated to play, but he played it anyway. “How do you intend to finance such a venture, ma'am? You led me to believe that you were at the end of your resources.”

“Then you didn't read that letter far enough, sir. Rachel realized that I might have put myself into financial difficulties by coming to London like this. So in recompense for my losses, she sent me this.” Sarah thrust out one hand. A bracelet—shining like tiny, brilliant cornflowers dusted with gold—sparkled across her fingers. “A gift from Daedalus, I assume, which I may sell as I will.”

Damnation!

Irony this absolute was rare. Guy's anger collapsed in the face of a new self-derision.

He raised a brow. “You're experienced in selling jewelry for cash, ma'am?”

“No, though I'm sure I could manage—unless it's simply paste and worth nothing. But Rachel believes it has value, and surely no reputable jeweler would cheat me?”

“Of course not, but if you walked into Rundle and Bridges with that, you'd first face some damned awkward questions.”

She turned the blue jewels over in her fingers. “And you think if Daedalus bought it there, they might tell him, or he might see it and start asking who'd returned it?”

Guy clasped his hands behind his back, despising himself for having to pick his words so carefully—as if he were digging a hole for himself with a silver fork.

“If I thought it wise, I'd happily sell it for you myself. I could have it held for as long as I requested, then sold privately. However, there's nothing to be gained either way.”

She walked back to the table. “You think it's worth so little, it won't even buy my coach ticket?”

For a split second he was tempted to pretend to sell the bracelet for her for a few shillings. She would never find out. Then she would have to agree to leave.

Instead, because he couldn't bear what he seemed to be becoming, he told her the truth. “On the contrary, I'm certain that it's worth a great deal more than your annual salary as a schoolmistress.”

The bracelet clattered onto the polished table as if the sapphires had burned her.

“Then I cannot fathom why Rachel would have accepted such a valuable gift from a gentleman to start with!” Sarah sat down and propped her forehead on one hand to stare down at the jewels, her long fingers brushing her hairline. “She must have been afraid to either refuse or return it. No wonder she sent it to me! She must hate it.”

“No doubt,” he said, and wondered with a small pang of rage if that was true.

“Then may I ask if you would indeed sell it for me, Mr. Devoran?”

“Even if I give you its value right now, ma'am, you must still go to Wyldshay.”

“No.”

“The carriage is ordered.”

Passion flashed in her eyes. “If you try to force me, sir, I shall sell this bracelet myself, whatever the risk, and go where I wish.”

“And then what?” He ran his fingers back through his hair. “You show regard for neither your safety, nor your reputation. If you run off to Devon, what the devil are your prospects for employment once your funds run out?”

Sarah sprang to her feet. “Short of imprisoning me in this house, sir, I don't see how you can stop me. But before she left for Wyldshay, Lady Ryderbourne promised me that—whatever I do in the meantime—I'll never want for a secure future.”

Guy stopped dead and this time found unadulterated amusement. The Fates—being female—were obviously determined to thwart him at every turn.

“So I'm confounded by a conspiracy of ladies! Not only will Miracle keep her word, but the duchess will undoubtedly back her. Her Grace has an unfortunate weakness for radical politics, which translates into a certain tolerance for independent young ladies.”

Sarah laughed, with just a small trace of bitterness. “Good heavens! Miss Farcey would give her right arm to gain the patronage of the Duchess of Blackdown. So, if you would give me even something toward the value of this bracelet, Mr. Devoran, I shall travel down to Devon.”