The Deepest Sin (10 page)
Authors: Caroline Richards
The older woman's eyes danced with appreciation. “It is never too late.”
Dear God, this was the last thing she'd wanted. Meredith held her gaze unflinchingly. “I am long past the age when a woman should be married, Lady Tattersall.”
Lady Tattersall's brows drew together. “Nonsense, my dear girl.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Dare I say, the way Lord Archer looked at you yesterday afternoon, with such intensity and concern, saving you from the hideous sandstorm ... I don't know what I should have done in such an instance.” She shivered dramatically and then returned to her train of thought. “And then he interceded upon your behalf at the British Office ... or so I hear. Not that I shall be telling tales out of school, you understand. The Colonel, my husband, would so disapprove.”
Meredith folded her hands neatly in her lap, all too aware that Archer had taken care of the matter of her attacker. How and with what explanation? The knot in her stomach tightened, but she focused instead on the trill of feminine laughter at the next table. “Entirely your imagination, Lady Tattersall,” she said lightly. “I'm certain Lord Archer only met with the British Office to finalize his own travel details.”
“How modest you are, Lady Woolcott.” The older woman's hand fluttered to the fine lace fichu at her breast, before she lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “I'm certain he behaved the perfect gentleman during your time together. Although I might add that there is something rather unusual about the man. Dare I say he's not typical of the drawing room sort. Of course, he comes from a good family and”âshe winked conspiratoriallyâ“with a handsome fortune. So one might be convinced to overlook that rather overtly masculine quality that just might be difficult to control... .” She trailed off, shivering slightly.
Meredith winced inwardly, her appetite for tea and Lady Tattersall diminishing further. Eager to steer her to another subject, she endeavored to light upon a topic that might be of interest to the older woman. With desperation, and an eye on the quivering ostrich feathers in the unnaturally bright hair of her companion, she began talking about the latest London fashions, of which, in truth, she knew little.
Lady Tattersall warmed immediately to the matter of crinoline widths and the merits of jet beading over lace. “It takes such a long time for news to reach us here in the colonies, my dear girl. I can't remember the last time I saw my modiste with anything remotely fashionable in hand. Why the patterns are at least two years behind by the time they arrive by packet post.” Her hand hovered over the creamer. “I do not know myself whether I prefer Mr. Worth or Mr. Manning's designs,” she mused. “And you?”
“Mr. Worth,” Meredith said automatically and with little thought, although suddenly aware that the relative drabness of her afternoon gown with its mauve piping did not say much about her sartorial choices. The trunk that awaited her in her rooms was filled with serviceable dresses and shoes in the earthen tones that had become a familiar and reassuring staple. There was little need for frills and furbelows in her life and she had never paid the least attention to the vagaries of fashion.
Lady Tattersall chatted on. “I do so agree,” she admitted, the feathers in her hair bouncing as she began expounding upon her favorite elements in his most recent designs. “I prefer his subtle use of fabrication and his extraordinary skill with the needle. But do tell me, are his portrait bodices still all the rage?”
The very devil if she knew.
Lady Tattersall made a moue of surprise, looking away from the canapé on her plate toward the small maelstrom that had occurred at the entrance to the conservatory. All thoughts of Worth and beading fled her mind in an instant. “Why how extraordinary, Lady Woolcott. It's Lord Archer,” she pronounced unnecessarily as the man in question stood framed in the doorway before beginning to approach their table. He looked out of place in the fussiness of the room and it seemed as though every female head had turned in his direction.
Meredith tried to suppress the jolt of excitement racing through her senses. But the startling width of his shoulders was too near, the taut breadth of his back too familiar and the hard muscles of his torso and arms too graphically memorable. In self-defense, she put down her teacup and drew herself up an inch. “Lord Archer,” she said evenly as he reached their table, her voice neutral to bolster her resolve.
Lady Tattersall's eyes narrowed with appreciation. “Lord Archer,” she echoed, but more slowly. “What brings you to tea this afternoon, or do I need to inquire?” She turned to study Meredith, her eyes widening dramatically as if she held the secrets of the universe.
“Lady Tattersall. Lady Woolcott.” He bowed in turn, dazzlingly resplendent in tan jodphurs, a white shirt and gray jacket. Clean shaven, the starkness of his features was even more pronounced, his thick hair barely tamed.
The older woman tapped him lightly on the arm with a flirtatious smile. “You are incorrigible for interrupting us, Lord Archer. Lady Woolcott and I were just debating the merits of Mr. Worth's designs over Mr. Manning's.”
He said in perfect seriousness, “A splendid question for Lady Woolcott.” He turned toward Meredith. “Do satisfy Lady Tattersall's curiosity.”
“I shall try,” Meredith returned with a tight smile.
“Will you not join us?”
“I'm afraid not, Lady Tattersall. Although the invitation is much appreciated.”
Shaking her head, the ostrich feather in her hair positively quaking, Lady Tattersall affected great disappointment. “I am shattered, heartbroken, my dear man, that you do not join us. I should adore learning more about your adventure in Rashid with Lady Woolcott. She has told me little enough. Although I see by your expression that my hopes are dashed.” She sighed ostentatiously. “Oh, but do take her away, sir, as I see that you are quite determined. I shall simply have to finish tea on my own.”
“I'm certain you will not find yourself without company for very long, a woman of your charm,” Rushford said. Lady Tattersall beamed. “Thank you for your understanding. We have some unfinished business. Before Lady Woolcott sets sail tomorrow.”
“Business? How positively tedious. Do tell me that you have more enjoyable subjects to discuss. Surely you can do better, Lord Archer,” she entreated. “And of course, I shan't send out a search party if you do not return to the conservatory and keep me company, you rogue.”
Reluctant to cause a scene, Meredith rose to take Archer's proffered arm. “Your understanding is much appreciated, Lady Tattersall. And thank you so much for the invitation to tea.”
“So whom do you prefer, Worth or Manning?” Archer asked a moment later, as they made their way from the conservatory under the raised lorgnettes of at least thirty pairs of eyes. Meredith smiled over her shoulder for the benefit of their audience.
“Neither. And you well know it.” She gritted her teeth.
The hum of conversation dissipated as they rounded the corner through Shepheard's lobby, a paen to hushed red velvet opulence where even the servants melted into the extravagant detail. Traversing the space, Archer steered them down a narrow corridor. The heavy pile beneath their feet turned to a shining expanse of gumwood parquet.
When she was sure they were quite alone, Meredith said, “I thought I had lost you in the desert and yet you persist in reappearing like a bad penny.”
“Have I ever remarked upon your persistent lack of charm, Lady Woolcott?”
“What is the purpose of this encounter? Tell me now and you may save us both some time.” She was all false bravado, almost afraid to hear his answer, but in response his eyes flashed with some inscrutable emotion as he propelled her onward.
“Forgive me for my presumption,” he said. “Perhaps I simply wished to see you again. Is that so impossible for you to believe?”
“Ah, of course,” she said softly, aware of the hardness of the muscles beneath her hand. “Do not mock me, sir.”
“A constant and erroneous accusation.”
He was looking for privacy and the notion disquieted her. The library beckoned, its wide doors open and flanked by two magisterial bronze lions. The shelves of books and heavy mahogany appointments were an homage to all that was British. Rich brocade drapes shut out the heat of the afternoon, but a pair of sconces burned just beyond the doors. Archer pulled her into the room and shut the doors behind them.
She took her hand from his arm. “Please say what you wish, but I would appreciate brevity. I have little time at hand and must prepare for tomorrow's departure.”
He ignored her, moving over to the sconces to turn the lights higher.
“What are you doing? I do not intend to stay. We are not here to peruse the latest issues of
Punch
.”
Punch
.”
“No, we are not. We have unfinished business. Pertaining to the matter at the fort. “ He seemed in no hurry, strolling in leisurely fashion around the room, pausing to examine a letter opener on a side table before picking it up.
“I am in your debt, I realize.” In repeating the words, she hoped to hasten an end to the proceedings.
He shook his head, tapping the opener against his palm. “Is that what you believe?”
“You made the body of the man I killed disappear today. The debt is mine to repay.”
“You need not worry. The matter has been resolved.”
“What did you tell them?”
He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“To me it does.” Meredith turned away, pretending to examine a shelf of books, their gilded titles demanding her attention as she tried to keep the anxiety from her eyes. “I should present myself to the British Office. Should there be a subsequent inquiry, I may answer their questions.”
“There will be no inquiry.” He said the words as though he ruled the world by fiat. Not for the first time, Meredith wondered what truly lay behind Archer's deliberately laconic façade. She turned back to face him.
“The man in question is a wanted felon with a long list of heinous crimes to his sorry credit. Besides which”âhe paused for a moment, looking down at the ornate handle of the opener, before raising his eyes to hersâ“I told them I was responsible. For the shot that killed him.”
Meredith's breath caught in her throat. “You did what?”
“Of course, you and I know otherwise. And we also realize that there was another purpose behind the attack which you refuse to acknowledge.”
“Why do you persist in taking off in that direction? You have no proof. Those men were simply after easy gold. You say yourself that my attacker has a long list of heinous crimes to his credit.”
“What of your guide, Murad?”
“He would have been rewarded with a portion of the spoils.”
Archer shook his head. “You are too intelligent to believe that theory. Murad is a civil servant. He would not risk his employment and his good name unless the inducement was rich indeed.”
For an instant, she railed against his logic. “That is merely an assumption on your part.”
He set her hands on her shoulders and she flinched. “I did not come here to argue with you. Only to tell you that the matter of the attack at Rashid is resolved.”
“For which I am to thank you,” she said, her eyes hard. “You would like that, would you not? To keep me in your debt.”
His hands tightened on her arms. “Your interpretation, not mine. Do not put words in my mouth. I don't recall having asked for anything in exchange.”
A long, uncertain moment passed. “So you say.”
“Have I asked anything of you?”
The image of the two of them together on the desert floor and then in the sandstorm rose in her mind. She thrust it away. “No, you have not,” she conceded with brutal honesty. “But I must ask something of you. And I have asked twice before.” He waited for her to continue. “I insist that you not accompany me back to London. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf and acknowledge that Lord Rushford and Rowena are concerned... .” Her voice was raw. “I have already sent a cable, as promised.”
Archer stood before her, like a desert mirage hovering just beyond her reach. Something inside her chest twisted and she suddenly wished that she had no past, that she was seventeen again with her life before her. Yet her weakness angered her and, ruthlessly, she shoved the thoughts away.
“What are you so afraid of, Meredith? That I will do you harm?” He took a step closer. “Or are you frightened that I can't help you?”
“I don't require help,” she said, her eyes hardening. “Those years are gone when I lived with Rowena and Julia at Montfort, startled by every shadow, every missive that crossed my doorstep, a stranger's footstep. I refuse to go back.”
“And if you have no choice?”
“I have every choice,” she gritted out. “And it's precisely why I pulled the trigger. I refuse to live in fear any longer. When I believed Julia and Rowena deadâ” She stopped unable to go on, closing her eyes.
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