More Than a Mistress (19 page)

He felt sick, not for himself, but for her, for the sorrow he saw on her face. Was this why she’d never married? She’d been waiting for this man to return? ‘You loved him.’ The thought was a blow to his kidneys.

She uncovered her face and there were tears on her cheeks. He’d never seen her cry. ‘Passionately.’ She choked down a sob. ‘As young people do. I wondered over and over why he never tried to contact me. And now there is nothing I can do.’

Her shoulders sagged. She stared at the letters as if seeing the boy she’d loved.

Charlie strode to her side and put his arm around her shoulders. He inhaled the lavender fragrance in her hair and ignored the anger at her grandfather for keeping her in the dark and Jane for wanting revenge. ‘We can find out who killed his sister. Who used her against you. We can do that much.’

She leaned into him, and he held her gently against his chest, lightly in case she would break. Slowly the tension eased from her body. Her warmth felt good in his arms. He wanted to keep her there forever.

She raised her face. ‘Thank you.’

He bent to kiss her lips. Something wrenched in his chest. Loss. But you couldn’t lose what you never had. ‘Come sit down. You look exhausted. Worn to the bone.’

She managed a shaky laugh. ‘Thank you for the compliment.’

‘Eee, lass,’ he said softly. ‘Would you have me lie to your face?’

Her eyes shone with tears, but her smile was sweet. ‘No. That I would not.’

‘Come then, drink some tea. We will find this man, I promise.’

Logan entered with a silver tray.

Charlie frowned at him.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord, but a reply by return is requested.’

Charlie took the note. ‘From Purtefoy,’ he said glancing at Merry.

Her mouth tightened.

He broke the seal. ‘He’s apologising for his sister’s lack of courtesy and requesting that the family be permitted to show their pleasure at our betrothal at the ball. He begs our attendance.’

‘Really? When they know my chaperon is laid low? It will be yet another opportunity to prove my lack of breeding.’

‘Show them they are wrong.’

‘By playing off our sham on members of society? We must not continue this pretence.’

His gut rolled. Unfortunately, she made perfect sense, but… He glanced down at the note. ‘Everyone in the county will be present.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Including perhaps the blackguard from the cellar.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Of course. Why didn’t I think of it?’

‘I might recognise his voice.’

‘All right, we will go.’

The sudden about-face made the hairs on his nape tickle. ‘I can manage alone.’

‘What, and speak to every male guest? Also you might need my confirmation, once you think you have found him.’

There was excitement behind her reasoned words. He raised a brow. ‘He…he may try again. Give himself away,’ Merry continued.

‘Are you suggesting I use you as bait?’ His back stiffened. Outrage. He would never knowingly endanger a woman. He’d led enough people to their deaths. ‘Certainly not. The man is dangerous.’

‘And he will continue to be dangerous until he is caught. This time, we will be the hunters.’

A cold chill ran across his shoulders. ‘As well as the hunted. No, Merry. I will not allow it.’

She rose to her feet and he followed suit. ‘What can he do in a ballroom full of people? As long as we stay together, a loving couple besotted with each other, nothing can happen.’

‘I will not put your life in danger again.’

‘Then I will go alone.’

‘You forget, your chaperon is indisposed.’

A gleam of triumph lit her eyes. ‘I do not need a chaperon to visit family.’

He tipped her chin and gazed down into her defiant eyes. ‘Miss Draycott, you truly are the most infuriating female it has ever been my misfortune to meet.’

‘Because you know I am right.’

‘I really think it is better if I go alone,’ he said into her hair, knowing full well her answer.

‘I’m going with you.’

‘Then we must take great care. I’ll send a note to my soldier friend.’

‘And I will enlist Caro’s help with my gown. I think it a little
risque
.’

‘Never.’

She grinned, but there was a touch of sadness in her eyes. ‘Still, I would not wish to disgrace you.’ She got up and strode to the door. She turned back. ‘For what time are we invited?’

‘Eight of the clock. It will take at least an hour to get there.’

She nodded. ‘I will be ready.’

So would he. Forewarned was forearmed in more ways than one.

As the carriage drove up the drive to the Chepstow country seat, Caro’s admonition rang in Merry’s ears.
Trust no one.
She trusted Charlie. With her life. She leaned against his broad shoulder in the dark of the carriage and he pulled her comfortingly close. Her heart, that stupid organ, squeezed painfully. Because this was a bit like Cinderella’s ball, but this time there would be no happy ending. No prince on her doorstep. He would go back to his life and she to hers.

It was the only possible outcome. Neither would be happy in the other’s world.

The carriage halted and a footman opened the door. Once again snow threatened. She could smell it in the air. Any sensible Yorkshire person would remain home on a night like tonight. It seemed being sensible was incompatible with being a member of the nobility. They only cared about entertainment. She pulled her fur-lined cloak around her, stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the sprawling red-brick Tudor mansion.

‘Looks like quite a party,’ Charlie said, taking her arm. Every window blazed into the night and carriages lined the driveway.

‘It does.’

An elderly butler opened the door and took their outer raiment.

‘Welcome.’ In the entrance hall, all black-and-white tile and medieval beams, Digby looked very much the viscount. He smiled in lordly greeting. ‘Merry, you look lovely. Good to see you, Tonbridge.’

The bonhomie felt forced, but at least the man was making an effort. Her cousin Allison likely would turn up her nose.

‘Through there to the ballroom,’ Digby said. ‘You’ll find Allison in there somewhere. You’ve never been here before, have you, cousin?’

Merry shook her head. ‘No, indeed. Are your mother and father here?’

‘No, Father stayed in town for the holidays and Mother is visiting relatives.’

‘While the cat’s away, mmm?’ Charlie said cheerfully, peering into a ballroom filled to capacity with every conceivable member of Yorkshire aristocracy. Feathers bobbed, diamonds winked and perfume thickened the air.

Her cousin laughed. A little too heartily, Merry thought. ‘No, no. We always host a ball at this time every year.’

‘And Merry was never invited?’ Charlie’s tone sounded just a little dangerous.

‘Glad not to be,’ Merry said quickly. ‘All these nobs. I’ve nowt to say.’

Digby winced. Charlie touched her ankle with his toe. A be-good admonition. She remembered her promise not to put him to shame with a flicker of resentment, but she didn’t really blame him for wanting her to behave like a lady, not when she was supposed to be his betrothed.

‘Shall I take you around?’ Digby said. ‘Introduce you?’

‘I pretty well know everyone,’ Charlie said. ‘Don’t worry about us. We will be fine.’

‘All right. It will soon be time to start the dancing, and I still have guests to greet.’ He hurried off.

Charlie placed her hand on his arm and walked over to the nearest group. ‘Lord Tonbridge,’ a pretty blonde lady in a gown of pink crepe, hemmed with enormous twining roses, cried. ‘I heard you might attend.’

‘Allow me to introduce my fiancee, Miss Merry Draycott,’ he said, pulling her forwards. ‘Merry, this is Lady Argyle.’

Merry curtsied.

Lady Argyle ran her gaze from Merry’s head to her heels and, seeming to approve, introduced her to the rest of the party. It seemed that Tonbridge gave her an entry where none would have been possible before.

Wouldn’t they be surprised when they learned the engagement was off? Perhaps even insulted. Her heart sank a little.

Soon they were moving from one group to another, Merry being introduced and conversations rippling around them. She did not feel quite as out of place as she expected. Many of these people were pleasant, and were anxious to talk about the manufacture of cloth. Many of them depended on it for their livelihoods. While she and Charlie conversed, she strained her ears to hear that one voice.

When the dancing began, not only did they have to listen to male voices through the general chatter, they now had to contend with the music. Not once did she hear a man she recogised as being the one in the cellar; judging from Charlie’s air of frustration, nor had he.

‘Perhaps he wasn’t invited,’ she murmured as they strolled around the dance floor, looking for people they’d not yet spoken with.

His lips thinned. ‘Perhaps he disguised his voice.’

‘Then him taking the bait might be our best chance after all.’

He didn’t look any happier.

The orchestra announced a waltz. ‘Dance with me,’ Charlie said.

‘How do you know I can dance?’ she said, smiling up at him.

His eyes crinkled at the corners and gleamed wickedly. ‘A man canny enough to send you to the most exclusive girls’ academy in England is hardly likely to neglect the rest of your education.’

‘Touche.’

He swept her into his arms and they circled the floor in fine style. He was the best dancer she’d ever encountered, including her teacher.

‘I see you had lessons too,’ she said.

‘Required curriculum for ducal heirs.’

‘And also for rakes.’

‘Who are you calling a rake?’

She smiled. He looked charmingly boyish. You would never know he was trying to catch a murderer.

Beneath the air of sophistication, beneath his cool reserve, resided a man with a very good heart. If only she had been of his world, things might have been different, but she wasn’t. The ache in her chest for what could not be made no sense, so she smiled as he whirled her around.

She relaxed in his arms, living the dream of being his fiancee for one more night.

And when he smiled down at her, the gold burst around his pupils as bright as a guinea, she could almost believe it would last forever.

But it didn’t.

The orchestra played the final notes and, looking down into her face, Charlie slowly released her. Was it regret she saw in his gaze, sorrow in the slight tightening around his lips, or was it all wishful thinking?

She gave him a bright smile. ‘That was grand.’

He smiled. ‘Thank you. You dance like an angel.’

‘More like a baby elephant.’ They laughed and linked arms.

Many eyes followed their progress off the floor. Men and women. Wondering eyes.

Did one pair belong to the man in the cellar? Would he strike? The joyful mood from their dance dissipated as if a cold wind had blown through the room.

Charlie guided Merry to the refreshment table.

‘Mountford,’ a male voice said behind them. ‘I got your letter.’

Charlie swung around. The man before him held out his hand.

‘Blade,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m Tonbridge, remember?’

‘Sorry, I forgot.’ Blade grinned beneath his magnificent brown moustache.

‘Merry, this is Captain Bladen Read. Read, this is my fiancee, Miss Draycott.’

‘Delighted to meet you.’ The captain bowed.

‘So, Blade, how are you finding Yorkshire?’

He grimaced. ‘Cold on more than one front. Several of us from the York camp are here tonight. Out of uniform. The army is not popular at the moment.’ He spoke carefully, like a man well on the way to half-seas over and his twinkling hazel eyes looked a little bleary.

Everyone dealt with the aftermath of Waterloo in their own way. Charlie could only wish brandy worked for him.

Blade turned his charming smile on Merry. ‘
The
Miss Draycott?’

Merry’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t know of any others.’

‘Don’t tease her.’ Charlie knew Blade of old. The man was an incorrigible flirt. And a confirmed bachelor.

Digby sauntered up. ‘May I have this waltz, coz? Show family solidarity and all that?’

Merry glanced at Charlie. He nodded. A private word with Blade was just what he needed.

They watched Merry dance with her cousin. ‘She’s a lovely woman,’ Blade said. ‘An heiress and not a wart or bristle on her chin. Can’t think why she’s not been snapped up before.’

Charlie’s nape hair rose. ‘Well she’s snapped up now.’

‘No need to poker up, old fellow. I’m not in the market for a bride. Although with a fortune like hers, I’d be tempted. Not that you are in need of money,’ he added swiftly at Charlie’s glare and rigid shoulders. ‘She’s a very attractive woman in her own right.’

They moved a little apart from the dance floor, seeking a quieter place for conversation.

Charlie flexed his fingers. ‘How have you been?’

‘Well enough. Regiment’s gone downhill. We lost too many of the good ones.’

Cold steel twisted in Charlie’s gut. He glanced down at his friend’s left hand.

Blade grinned when he saw the direction of Charlie’s gaze. He raised his arm and the sleeve fell back, revealing a wickedly sharp hook. ‘Makes a great weapon. And holds the reins just fine.’

The recollection of Blade’s screams when the women took his finger sent a shudder of revulsion across Charlie’s shoulders. He hoped Blade didn’t see it. But of course he did, because his grin widened. ‘I was one of the lucky ones. If you hadn’t stabbed that old crone, who knows what she would have cut off next?’

‘If I hadn’t led that bloody charge, you wouldn’t have ended up off your horse.’

‘It was glorious, though, wasn’t it?’

Glorious and foolhardy. Utterly mad. Their commanding officer had been beside himself with anger, when he’d finally found Charlie in hospital.

So many good men lost, because Charlie lost his head.

Bitterness rose in his throat like bile. He swallowed it down. He lived with the guilt as best he could. ‘As I wrote, I need your help.’

‘Name it.’