Mary Blayney (39 page)

20

T
HE QUESTION TOOK HIM
aback but Michael was saved from answering by another perfunctory scratch at the door. The same footman came in.

“The land manager is here, Your Grace. With the report on the storm damage. Lord David said that you would want to hear it.”

Michael noted that the last was added with a note of apology. For interrupting the duke or perhaps for adding more to his long day.

The man who came in looked as though he lived out of doors. His face was colored by the sun, his hair had a perpetually windblown look and his hands, now holding tight to his hat, were the hands of a man who was willing to work.

“Your Grace,” the man said as he bowed. He began a list of woods and trees and crops and animals. Meryon held property all over Derbyshire and into the Peak as well.

Michael followed the detailed account for the first few minutes, then his mind began to play with the answer to the duke’s question: “What is Lady Olivia to you?”

The true answer to that could take a lifetime to explain. Or perhaps his lifetime would illustrate it. The girl he had found in the woods was his next step toward redemption. His next step toward creating a life that would free him of the war years and the memories that plagued him.

Not that all of his dreams were nightmares. And that was the crux of it. There were times when he wanted to stay Raoul Desseau forever. When he thought it would be easier to play a role that freed him from truth and allowed, even welcomed, lies.

That temptation not to return to face the life he had abandoned weighed on him as much as the crimes he had committed. Those were done for a greater good and God would forgive them. But could He forgive the weaknesses that made honesty such a challenge: pride, stubbornness, selfishness.

That was what Michael had been thinking about when a naked woman had wandered into his life. Facing her, he knew he had a choice, and that choice would define the rest of his days as ones filled with honor or defined by self-interest.

Michael did not know how long he considered the question but eventually he realized the room was quiet and the duke was watching him with cynical interest. “Have you been able to come up with an answer to my question?”

“I will tell you the truth, Your Grace.” Michael felt virtue ease his conscience at that decision. “I gave thought to leaving her there, sure as I was that her story was not a happy one and that death was more reward than punishment. But that would have been a coward’s way. Instead I chose to try to save her, not knowing anything about her. I did it because all life has value. Even life that others deem worthless.”

If the duke thought that last was directed at him, he ignored it. “So if she had been a murderer you would not have regretted the effort?”

“Not for one minute, Your Grace. Murder is not the worst crime a man or woman can commit.”

“I imagine you can speak about that with insight.” As he spoke, the duke opened the long desk drawer in front of him and drew out a letter.

Michael was standing just on the other side of the desk and he could see the handwriting. He recognized the impatient scrawl as that of Lord Gabriel Pennistan.

“I have been expecting you for the better part of a week, Major Michael Garrett.”

The duke dropped the letter on the desktop and leaned across it. “It is much too convenient that you are the one who rescued Lady Olivia.” Meryon’s eyes pinned Michael to the spot as surely as if he’d used nails.

“Of course. It would be a plot to you.” Michael would have laughed if his desire to live had not been so strong. The duke was murderously angry.

As it was Michael could not keep the cynicism from his voice. “If you will allow it, Your, Grace, your story tells like this: I learned all I could from your brother while I was visiting his bride and their children in Sussex. Based on that information you think that I arranged to have your sister kidnapped and her reputation ruined. After that I became her rescuer.” There were a couple of other ways to present it, but Michael had made his point. “How clever of me.”

“Not clever enough.” The duke seemed to relax, but that was after he pulled a pistol from his desk drawer and laid it on the desk.

“Now you have the advantage of me, Your Grace. I left my gun at the stable, thinking I was among allies.”

“So my brother reported. That and a knife tucked into your blanket.”

“I see you have your own network of spies.” Obviously storm damage was not all the land manager had reported.

“Perhaps. But I call them friends, Mr. Garrett.”

“Confusing the two is a civilian’s greatest mistake, Your Grace.”

“Both you and Gabriel call each other friend.” The duke’s expression finally showed something. Curiosity.

“Yes, but he was never a true spy. Nor was his wife. Lord Gabriel was not at all suited to the life and Lynette did it for her own reasons, which had nothing to do with whether Napoleon was winning or losing. The distinction is quite clear.”

“You were a spy, though. In name and in deed. Do you deny that?”

“No, but if you have heard from Gabriel you already know that. And this: It is part of my past. Two years now. Raoul Desseau is gone, not quite buried, but a part of my past.” The pure truth of that sentence was a relief, such a relief that he smiled. “I know that I am not welcome in society even if that life is behind me, so it is just as well that I never found much satisfaction in the balls and routs of the London Season.”

The duke nodded, otherwise unmoved by his candor. “So you left London and stopped in Sussex, and after that you came north planning to extort money from us to protect Olivia’s reputation. So much easier than gainful employment.”

“In the name of God, what did your brother say about me in that letter? I counted him a friend.”

“Gabriel praised you to the heavens. He says that your cleverness,” he paused over the word, “saved his life, as well as Lynette’s, when their escape was on the verge of discovery. He owes you for every moment he is alive. I do believe those were his exact words.”

“I do not understand your suspicion. Your money funded that adventure, sir. More important than that, Gabriel is a Pennistan. If you do not believe your brother will always put his family first, you do not believe in anyone.”

The duke glanced at the letter, otherwise unmoved by Michael’s accusation. “I believe every word Gabriel wrote and all the stories he told me. But I know him. As you said he is my brother. His judgment of character is often influenced by his sensibilities. It is enough that you saved his life.”

“I hardly saved his life, Your Grace.” Honest or not, Michael was compelled to clarify the story. “I lied for him. It was a rather clever ruse, but my colonel was not inclined to use his brain or we might not have been so lucky.”

“As I was saying.” The duke spoke over Michael’s last words, making his lack of interest quite clear. “Gabriel thinks you saved his life and that of his wife and two of the children that they now call their own. That is sufficient to cloud his judgment.”

“So I am to feel the brand of spy and its consequences for the first time.” Honesty might make things simpler but it did not make life seem any more fair.

“If you were not part of her kidnapping or an effort at blackmail, it is also possible that you are using this rescue so you can marry Olivia and ally yourself with this family. Again so much easier than employment. The son of an Anglican bishop would be at least marginally acceptable as a husband for someone with the blood of the Duke of Meryon in her veins.”

Disgust made short work of any attempt at civility. “You may be a duke but you are also a fool.” Michael reached for his greatcoat and hat, relieved that this was one time when he could make his true opinion known.

“No matter what Gabriel told you, here is the truth. I have spent the last five years living a lie, posing as a French officer to extort money and betraying trust to fuel a war we won with dishonor as an ally. For me that ended when I came back to England.

“My family did not want the truth so I left Sussex. Not only do you not want the truth either, you continue to see anyone outside your sacred circle as a threat. I’ve lived that life and want no more of it.” Michael turned to the door, sure, almost sure, that the duke would not shoot him in the back.

But beneath the lofty words was a genuine ache for the sweet innocent he had rescued. He turned at the door and gave the duke a last scathing look. “No wonder Lady Olivia spends all her time in the kitchen. I’ll wager it’s the only place she can find any warmth, human or otherwise.”

The duke did not try to stop him. As Michael reached for the door handle, it was opened from the other side. A velvet-clad cannonball burst into the room and flew across the floor to the duke. “Lyn! Oh, Lynford, I am so sorry.”

The duke pushed the basket of clothes onto the floor and kicked it under his desk.

Then he opened his arms to his sister. The two stood in a bruising embrace, Olivia’s face pressed against her brother’s heart, Meryon’s chin resting on her new curls.

Michael watched the two rock back and forth, each comforting the other, and had the answer to his question. He had been as wrong as he could be.

The Duke of Meryon loved his sister, loved her so much that even now there was a tear on his cheek as he held her tight, as if keeping her close would protect her from the world’s dark moments.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Meryon smoothed Olivia’s hair and whispered. “You are safe, dear heart, which is what matters most.” The duke leaned back and ruffled her new curls. “I shall have to call you Petite Mama. You look even more like our mother now.”

Olivia pressed her face against her brother’s chest.

Michael left the room, feeling an interloper. His cynicism faded to regret. Though he had never once experienced it, he knew that familial love existed.

Lynette and her mother shared it with their cobbled family that now had Gabriel Pennistan to head it. Mrs. Blackford and Lady Olivia shared it without the bonds of blood. It existed in the best army units, brothers all. He had never known it. Not firsthand. Not for himself.

Lady Olivia was safe now and he was free. He could make his way to Manchester or wherever he could find work suited to his unique talents.

The footmen did not escort him to the front door, which surprised him. He supposed they were more interested in the story being told in the duke’s inner sanctum.

If the duke and his sister loved each other so dearly, Olivia would tell the truth, Meryon would believe her and Michael Garrett would be absolved of trying to extort money or force a marriage. They certainly did have an obsession with the two. There was a story there, one of a hundred he would never know and would not miss.

That was a lie. The image of Olivia’s eager face and pursed lips came to mind. He would miss the possibility of another kiss. He could still feel her mouth touching his. Whether that persistent memory was the devil’s work or the gift of an angel, he would remember it always.

With a last gesture of ill will, Michael left the castle the way he had entered it, through the salon window. Let the ass of a porter make what he would of that.

Convincing himself it was no more than curiosity, Michael took the long way around the castle again, back toward the stable. There were fewer lighted windows at this hour, but the waning moon was bright, and he let it show him the way.

He tested a few more of the sashes, the ones that were within easy reach, and found them fastened tight.

Where the old building met the land, there were only a few openings. Years ago, the narrow openings that the archers used had been enlarged and made into windows. They were now without glass and covered from the inside. If the panels could be loosened, a limber man could easily climb through.

You are no longer responsible for her safety,
Michael reminded himself. He would not be able to explore the ruin in the daylight. That could be labeled his penance for trespassing in the first place.

Thinking of Olivia again, he considered the idea of sending the duke a letter suggesting that he have a trusted servant investigate the abandoned part of the castle.

The wind gathered strength. Last night’s storm was still a part of him and Michael looked about even as he walked faster. The bigger trees were barely moving; the smaller trees would cause no harm if they gave way.

Pulling his greatcoat more tightly around him he let himself inhale deeply, the last of the cinnamon and spice that would always remind him of Lollie-the-lost. Lady Olivia Pennistan was far above his reach, but sweet, prickly Lollie had been his dream come true. And like a dream, the fantasy had disappeared with daylight.

Michael sat down on the wall of the moat, the wind blocked by the castle, and let that bit of honesty sink into his soul. He could have done more than see Lollie to safety. Under a dozen other circumstances he could have been more than her rescuer.

The wind changed direction and was brisk enough to make Michael stand and walk on to the stable. What a game life was, to tempt him with Lollie-the-ghost and taunt him with Olivia-who-had-never-been-kissed. They might be one in the same, but her title changed everything.