The Heart That Lies (21 page)

“Now,” she replied.

Meldon raised a hand to her cheek, but dropped it as he remembered that he was not allowed to touch her. “Step away from the door.” As she hesitated, he added, “I will need to hold you and I can’t do it with the door at your back.”

Anna stepped forward so that their bodies touched and Meldon’s self-control vanished. His arms went round her and his mouth pressed down on hers. He was aware that her hands grasped his shirt front, but he concentrated on her mouth. With a sigh of satisfaction he pressed between her lips. He could tell from her reaction that he was not the first to do so. Considering this for a moment, he paused. Anna pulled away from him.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked breathlessly.

“Nothing at all,” he whispered. Then he claimed her mouth again. This time the moan of contentment was hers. Neither of them noticed when his stick fell from his hand and struck the floor loudly. When her hands had worked their way up his chest to his neck and then to his hair
, he moved his hand to the back of her head and changed their positions slightly. He felt the change in her body immediately and his other hand pulled her closer against him. He could feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her silly gown. Unwittingly he began to stroke her back. Amazingly she drew even closer to him. He allowed the kiss to become possessive and felt the hunger in her. Had she wanted this as much as he had?

It was only as he eased his hand between their bodies to her breast that she broke away from him. With a groan he remembered that he should not touch her.

Anna was flushed and could not meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, but it was
no more than a breath that he understood from the movement of her lips, not because he had heard her words.

She swung the door
open and left the room. He followed her into the passage and almost out into the garden before he realised he didn’t know how to stop her and didn’t know what he would do if he succeeded.

Anna ran into the garden. How could she have been so stupid? Whatever Finch had been trying to tell her last night it wasn’t that Meldon loved her. Meldon possessed all the passion that Carstairs lacked, but it was lust, not love, that motivated him. As she slowed down to a walking pace, however, she reflected that his kiss had been wonderful. There had been none of the selfishness that she had had from Carstairs. Meldon’s kiss must have been pleasurable because he had wanted to please her. And if there had been lust at the end, well, hadn’t she welcomed his touch? She began to calm down; perhaps it was possible that he did love her. If only there was someone who could advise her. She might, perhaps, be able to ask Finch. He seemed willing to help her.

“Ah, Miss Smith,
what a lucky chance.”

Carstairs stood before her.
Anna stopped walking blindly.

“Good
day, Mr Carstairs.  I had not expected...”

What? To see him today? To see him in the garden? In truth, she had not
given him any thought since Finch had taken her back inside the house last night and she had seen Meldon’s angry face.

She looked round, but neither Finch nor
any of Meldon’s other male guests was in sight to assist her.

“
You look pale, Miss Smith, are you well?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“I came to apologise for my behaviour last night. I should not have come outside with you, but... well, my passion for you is such that my good sense leaves me when I’m with you.”

For the first time, Anna allowed herself to wonder what it was that Carstairs wanted
with her. There had indeed been passion in his kiss, but not of a kind that she welcomed. Carstairs was a man who kept his passions hidden as much as Meldon did.

Anna looked over her shoulder at the house,
then back at the man before her. She smiled slowly.

“I am not afraid of your passion, Mr Carstairs, only of your indifference.”

She saw the tension disappear from Carstairs and he smiled.

“Shall we walk a while?”

“I should like that.”

Anna slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and they started to walk through the garden. Although Meldon’s gardeners worked hard to keep the garden in good order, they
could not work quickly enough to keep the paths free of fallen leaves. Anna enjoyed the sound their feet made as they walked through them. She wished she might enjoy that small pleasure, but she must be polite.

“The garden still looks beautiful,” she said.

“Yes,” agreed Carstairs. “But I have not come here to admire Meldon’s garden.”

Anna refused to show her shock at his lack of manners
, or her annoyance that they could not keep their conversation where it could do no harm.

“No, you came to apologise.”

“And you have accepted my apology.”

“Yes, I have and now we are walking through Lord Meldon’s garden.”

Carstairs stopped and turned to face her.

“My feelings for you have not changed.”

“Nor mine for you.”

He smiled,
easily misled. Then he leaned forward slightly, as if to kiss her, but, when she made no move to accommodate him, he straightened again.

Anna looked once more towards the house, as if to indicate that someone would see them, but she was
trying to see if Meldon was still following them. He was out of sight, but she thought he must still be within earshot.

“Forgive me,” said Carstairs. “As I mentioned, my passions...”

“Yes, passion can be overwhelming.”

Anna realised that she was now quite cold;
she had taken up neither jacket nor shawl when she had run from Meldon. It served only to remind her that Carstairs was not the gentleman that Finch was.

“Allow me, then, to demonstrate my control by laying my prospects out before you. I have taken my house
for three years. I have fifteen hundred pounds a year, but my business is such that this will increase. I am a gentleman and have no aspiration to be anything else. I am the third son of my father, who owns a large property in Dorsetshire.  Although it is fashionable to do so, I do not gamble and I am not considered fast in any way. I prefer living in town to living in the country, but I would not object if you wished to spend more time here.”

“How very
accommodating,” said Anna, wondering what it was he spent his money on. Keeping his household in a more appropriate way than it was would cost much less than his professed income. Perhaps he lied and gambled. Then she understood, he must keep a mistress somewhere in her own establishment.

“A man who marries a beautiful woman should accede to some of her desires.”

“I will not pretend not to understand your meaning.”

“
But I will speak more plainly. Will you marry me?”

Anna hesitated. Since she had had an alternative to accepting his proposal, she had not given any thought to how she should turn him down. It had ever been her practice to speak plainly, so she continued in that vein.

“No, Mr Carstairs, I will not marry you.”

“But... but you said your feelings had not changed.”

Anna sensed the rising anger in him.

“Nor have they. Mr Carstairs, I must know a man better than I know you to agree to marry him. You seem to me to be a man of energy and sense and you have money enough for us to have a comfortable life, but I know so little of your character.”

This last was not exactly a lie. The little she knew of his character was enough to tell her that they were not suited, but even her desire to speak plainly could not convince her to be rude.

“Then I may hope?”

“Hope is the last to die.”

“Then let us walk a little more.”

Anna was astonished. Politeness required that he leave her now. She had turned him down and he should retire to consider what had happened and understand why his proposal was unacceptable. Rudely, he was proposing to allow her to grow even colder. On the point of refusal, she saw Meldon go back into the house and her heart sank. Finch’s hints had been misguided; had Meldon loved her, he would certainly have rescued her from Carstairs before now. Even as her host, he had the duty to protect her from the cold to which Carstairs was exposing her.

“For a short while,” she conceded
, with a barely concealed sigh.

“The weather is surprisingly good for the time of year,” said Carstairs and his words made her feel instantly colder.

“Yes. I like these bright November days.

“There’s a country tradition that the weather is good for three days after the blue moon rises and
there was a blue moon last night.”

“I
didn’t know.”

Anna was overcome by
sadness and could barely speak.

“Mr Carstairs! Why are you
allowing Miss Smith to get so cold out here?”

Anna turned to see Finch
striding towards them and taking off his jacket. He put it around her shoulders and she smiled at him in gratitude.

“
His passion overcame him,” said Anna, knowing that Finch would understand the joke.

“Did it, by God!
Come into the house and get warm, Miss Smith.”

Carstairs made to protest and reached for her hand
, but Anna slipped it onto Finch’s arm.

“Good bye, Mr Carstairs.”
She thought there could be no doubt as to her meaning.

“Good bye, Miss Smith. May I call on you
tomorrow?” It seemed that Carstairs had misunderstood her.

“No, I don’t think
you should call again.”

Carstairs looked surprised, but not, Anna thought, dismayed.

“You said I might hope.”

“Hope is
tenacious and often goes against reason and experience.”

“I understand.” He turned quickly and walked away from them.

Finch took her hands in his and chafed them.

“So you turned him down.
That was sensible.”

“
How long were you watching?”

“I wasn’t.
Meldon came into the house and almost knocked me down on his way up to his rooms. I looked out to see what had disturbed him. The fool must think you accepted Carstairs. He thinks you accepted me as well. Come into the house and get warm and we will work out together how Meldon can hold two mutually exclusive ideas in his head.”

“Does your offer still stand?”

Finch stopped walking and looked at her.

“My dear Miss Smith, of course it does, but you won’t need it.”

He patted her hand affectionately.

Anna wasn’t so sure, but she allowed herself to be led into the house, her head whirling with Carstairs, Finch and the blue moon.

Meldon sat in front of his fire in his private sitting-room. He held the whisky glass up so that the liquid was between the firelight and his eyes. Would it take away the pain of what he had overheard in the garden? Could Anna, his Anna, really be thinking of marrying Carstairs? Was he the one who had taught her to kiss? Was she in love with the man who was responsible for Vincent’s death? And what about Finch, wasn’t she engaged to Finch? These thoughts had chased one another round his head with no conclusion. His head ached and it was not the whisky that caused his pain.

Finch had come up to see him shortly after dark. Meldon had already been drunk by then, but he understood that Finch intended to return to London tomorrow and to take Anna with him if Meldon had not proposed to her by then. Understanding that did not help him to make sense of what he had seen and heard in the garden, nor of what had happened when Anna had asked him to kiss her.

He swallowed some whisky and felt the liquid burn, then warm him inside. It was nothing like the warmth he felt every time he saw Anna. When he had kissed her the heat had threatened to engulf him.

In his stupor it occurred to him that Anna was playing with him. Although she had said that the duel had resolved things between them, perhaps she had lied and was now seeking her revenge by a different route, by making him fall in love
with her and then marrying his friend. He laughed aloud; there were easier ways to hurt him and they did not involve marriage. Finch was right, Anna could have left his house at any time and he had had no power to keep her here. If she was engaged to Finch, it must be because she wished to be engaged to him. Yet, still Finch insisted that Meldon should marry her, that he could marry her. So they were not engaged. The intellect that General Warren valued so highly was failing him recently.

Carstairs
was less of a problem, for he would surely be dead soon, but Anna was fond of him, wasn’t she? If only he had the proof of which Warren had spoken he could expose Carstairs as a murderer and that would surely change her opinion of the man. Whatever Warren had could not be presented to Anna, though. There was little danger that Carstairs would live long enough to marry Anna, but if she were engaged to him when he was revealed as a spy and a traitor, it would be damaging. Whoever she was, she deserved more than that. It might not be so painful if she married Finch, he thought, knowing the one person he could not lie to was himself. At least he would be good to her.

Briefly he thought about the other man, the man with fine hands and good character. What of him? Had Anna given up hope where he was concerned?
The answer must be that she loved neither Finch nor Carstairs, but would marry Finch.

There was a knock on the door. Before he could answer it
, Anna burst into the room.

“You have
acquired the habit of ignoring the proprieties when you enter a room,” he slurred as he stood, unsteadily. He had drunk more than he had thought. Then he looked at her and he was instantly sober.

She wore only her night gown with
the shawl he had given her slung loosely around her shoulders. Her hair was loose. Had she really lived here long enough for it to grow to her shoulders? His eyes went lower to her breasts. Anna’s nightgown left little to the imagination and now that she stood between him and the fire he could see her perfect shape outlined by the flames.

“You weren’t at dinner.”

It sounded like an accusation.

He waved his glass at her, before setting it down carefully on the table.

“I was drunk, yet I had sense enough not to embarrass myself in front of my mother and my guests.”

“I have to talk to you. Are you sober now?”

She was impatient and, he thought, annoyed.

“Completely. What do you need to say?” He was pleased by the slightly amused tone that he had managed to put into his voice. Anna frowned and he regretted it immediately. “What has happened, Miss Smith?”

She put her candle on the small table by the door and came to him.

“Mr Carstairs has offered me his hand in marriage.”

Meldon remember that he was not supposed to know this.

“Has he, by Jove? And it is to tell me that you have two fiancés that you have burst into my private rooms in a state of undress in the middle of the night?”

Anna drew the shawl tightly over her breasts then changed her mind and let her arms fall to her sides.

“No,” she said, “I don’t have two fiancés... I have.... I have tried, but I can’t sleep.”

Bemused by the change of subject,
Meldon glanced at the clock that stood in the corner of the room. It was just after midnight.

“You haven’t been trying very hard.” Her expression hardened.
“Doubtless the prospect of marrying Mr Carstairs, or Mr Finch or whoever your next conquest might be is so exciting it chases sleep away.”

“
You don’t know anything. Please let me talk to you.”

Uncertainly, s
he stretched her arms out to him. He caught them and pulled her to his chest. To his surprise she nestled against him with a sigh of contentment. This was not a woman happily engaged to the man she loved, whichever man it might be.

“You turned him down,” he ventured.

“I did.”

All was not lost, then, as Finch seemed willing to put his own claim aside.

“Then you are not here to talk about Mr Carstairs,” he hazarded.

“
I think I am. He... he said something very strange this afternoon.”

“
Said something strange?”

This seemed a weak reason for a woman not to accept
a proposal and a weaker reason to come to his room in her nightgown.

He felt her nod against his chest, but she said no more. Happy though he was to hold her like this, he knew that she would soon be as aware of his desire as he was and his hands already ached from the effort of keeping them still.

“Tell me what it is that worries you about him.”

She put her arms around his waist and pulled herself closer to him and he wondered whether Carstairs had ever threatened her physically. It was only when Anna pulled away from him that he realised he had growled.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “your hesitation made me think of some of the ways that a man can mistreat a woman and I wondered what Carstairs might have done.”

“It’s not that,” she said as she moved back to him. Certain that he would kill Carstairs without a second thought the next time that he saw him,
regardless of the general’s orders, Meldon stroked Anna’s back, soothing himself almost as much as her.

“You came here to tell me something,
” he reminded her, although he could have held her like this forever.

“I’m not sure I did.” It was a whisper. “I came here to talk to you; I’m not sure it was about Mr Carstairs
after all.”

“What worries you, Anna?”

It was the first time he had used her name.

“It’s not... He spoke to me about the blue moon.”

Meldon stiffened. Carstairs knew something about the blue moon?

“The blue moon?”

“
He said the weather is good after a blue moon rises, but it wasn’t...”

“He said that did
he?” Meldon interrupted her. He made his decision immediately. “I have to go out.”

Anna’s face was confused when she looked up at him. The temptation was too much; he kissed her
swiftly, then released her. He put his boots on and retrieved his jacket from the floor where he had dropped it. It was only when he heard her gasp as he took up a pistol that he realised that she was still in the room.

“You will be careful, my l
or... George, won’t you?”

He turned back to her, as she must have intended. This time his kiss was deep and possessive. It was only when he realised that he was losing himself in it that he let her go and rested his forehead against hers.

“We will talk of this when I return.”

The touch of her hand against his cheek was as welcome as it was unexpected.

“Yes, please.”

Even before she left the room, his thoughts were back with Carstairs.

“I see Miss Smith delivered my message,” said Carstairs as Meldon was shown into the
same room in which Meldon and Anna had been received a few days earlier. He did not rise from his chair, or even put down the glass he held. Meldon was unmoved by his lack of manners, but the knowledge that the man had been using Anna would make it easier to kill him.

“Yes, she did.” Meldon saw no point in pretending that he had come here at this late hour on a social call.

“She has played her part well.”

Meldon ignored the implication that Anna was Carstairs’ to command; they both knew it wasn’t true.

“And your purpose in calling me here?” Meldon tried to regain the ground he had lost. He appeared to have walked into a trap of some kind. Finch was right; he had become stupid of late. If he survived, he would have to give up spying before he caused the deaths of more of his friends.

“I
want you to tell me what the message means.”

“Don’t you know?”

Stupid
again, thought Meldon, of course Carstairs didn’t know what it meant. He would not have needed Anna if he had known.

Carstairs shook his head.

“No, Lord Meldon, I don’t. But you will soon tell me.”

He pointed a pistol at Meldon’s knee. “I wish I could pretend that you will leave here alive, but you must know already that you won’t. I was told that you were a clever man, but I see your mistress has made you foolish.”

Meldon took a step forward, but stopped as Carstairs aimed the pistol at his heart.

“Do you think any woman who was my mistress would even look at you?”
The words hurt more than he thought they would, but he had to stop him talking about Anna. He could not concentrate on getting out of here alive, if he were distracted.

“But she did,
my lord. It is the gossip of Meldon Sturgis. You brought your mistress with you from London, but you neglected her.” His expression became smug. “When your friend found us together on the terrace, it was she who instigated it, not I.”

What had Anna instigated? Why? No, Meldon straightened his
back; this was not about Anna, but about the traitor who stood before him. He had been stupid to come here alone and without a plan and against General Warren’s instructions. The man who had been clever enough to trick Vincent into going to a brothel had had no difficulty in drawing Meldon out. His mind raced as he tried to work out what to do. His pistol was still tucked into his breeches and he could not reach it before Carstairs shot him. The same applied to the knife in his boot. Then he would probably die, as Carstairs had said.

“You will talk about Miss Smith no more. Tell me what you want and get it over with.”

“I want to know what ‘Blue moon rises’ means.”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you do. I’m quite capable of torturing you until you tell me.”

“As you tortured Vincent?”

“Yes, I tortured him. He bore a lot of pain before he died. How much pain can you bear?”

“Very little, I fear. But I cannot tell you what I don’t know, so I shall
die in peace.” Except that Anna would never know that he loved her. That thought worried him. He should have told her, even if it meant the end of their friendship. Would Finch tell her after he was dead? Would it cause her more pain or make her happy? He must stop thinking about her.

“
Vincent went to you. He left you a message that he expected you to understand. Why should I believe that you didn’t understand it? He was a spy and you were the man he gave his secrets to.”

“No.”
Meldon lied through force of habit. “He was my friend. He came to me for help and I wasn’t there.”

“Then I shall kill you as I killed your friend.”

He fired the pistol. Meldon felt the pain in his leg before the surprise that Carstairs had acted. He fell back onto the floor then watched as Carstairs crossed the room to stand over him, another pistol in his hand. Carstairs had been right; he wasn’t going to leave this room alive.

“Do you still say you don’t know what it means?”

Meldon didn’t even have to think about it. “You’ll never know what it means from me.”

Meldon heard a shot, then there was nothing.