Chapter Seventeen
Graham had slept but very little. Most of the night had been spent marveling at the woman beside him. Physically, she was perfect to him in every way but, more than that, he felt to his very bones that she was what he’d been searching for all along. He’d wanted a sense of belonging to something—to someone. In the dark hours of the night, with her in his arms, her body warm and willing beneath him, he’d found that. Still, there was a part of him that whispered he did not deserve it, did not deserve her.
She slept peacefully, untroubled by demons and by a dark and twisted past. Curled against him, soft and warm, she represented all that he craved in life and all that had been denied him to that point.
Absently, he lifted a lock of her hair and twined it about his fingers. The dark strands felt like spun silk. She stirred then, her lashes fluttering against his chest until finally her eyes opened fully. They had not closed the bed curtains and the first faint light of dawn was seeping in through the curtains.
“You should go,” she said, her voice husky with sleep. “If the servants see you sneaking out of my chamber in the wee hours of the morning there will be no end to the gossip.”
“And is that you’re only reason for hurrying me off?” he asked.
“What other reason could there be?” she asked, sitting up. She clutched the sheet to her chest, shielding her breasts from his view. His temptress of the night had grown shy with the dawn, it seemed.
“Regret,” he offered.
She didn’t answer immediately. For the heartbeat it took for her to form a response, his stomach knotted with tension.
“I regret nothing… except that I have to ask you to sneak away in the light of day,” she finally said. “I do not feel any shame for what we did, for the liberties I allowed you. I know that I should. But try as I might, I cannot muster any real contrition. False piety after hedonistic enthusiasm does not sit well with me.”
“Then come to me tonight,” he urged. “When the servants are abed and the house is dark… come to my bed and let me show you what true hedonism can be.”
Her expression revealed clearly just how tempted she was. But she ducked her head, her hair falling over her face in a movement that was unconsciously seductive. “I don’t know yet. It all depends on what happens today with Agatha. If she isn’t better—”
“Dr. Warner has assured us that she will recover, but that it will be a difficult process.”
“Do you believe him?” she asked, pausing as she attempted to bring some order to the wild, tangled mass of her hair. Recalling how her hair had wrapped around him the night before, the silken tresses sliding over his skin as he made love to her a second time, Graham had to fight the urge to simply drag her back to the bed.
Forcing himself to focus on the issue at hand, he said, “He’s beyond a doubt one of the most skilled and knowledgeable men of medicine that I have ever encountered.”
“How do you know him?” she asked, rising from the bed and taking the sheet with her.
He sat there, completely oblivious to his nakedness. She was not. When she glanced back at him, her face flamed with a vivid blush.
“It’s a bit late for missishness,” he teased.
“You have no shame.”
“Not a bit of it,” he admitted. “And I’ll soon have you prancing naked through this chamber without a second thought. In fact, I’m looking forward to it. You have the most perfect backside… lush, full, heart-shaped. It fits perfectly in my hands—”
“Stop it!” she hissed, but there was laughter in her voice as well. “Now you’re embarrassing me on purpose.”
“Yes, I am,” he admitted, but there was no teasing in his tone. He was completely serious as he spoke. “Because more than your face blushes and, if it weren’t daylight, I’d drag you right back to this bed and show you just how entrancing I find it.”
She had managed to don her shift and was struggling into her stays, but she stopped then. “I’ll come to you tonight. You’ve persuaded me with sadly little effort it seems. I’ve turned into quite the wanton.”
“There’s no shame in it… whatever this is between us, Beatrice, it isn’t simply slaking a lust. You do know that?”
She’d managed to untangle her shift from their array of discarded clothing and donned the rumpled garment. “I know that I want it to be… but there is far more at play here than what we want. You are Lord Blakemore. That comes with responsibilities, Graham, that you would not be meeting if you were to form some sort of permanent attachment to me.”
“That will be my decision to make… mine and yours. Everyone else and their opinions be damned,” he said and rose from the bed. Naked, he stood before her and helped her to tug the mass of her dark hair from the wrap she’d been struggling to don. “When I decide I want something, nothing will stand in my way, Beatrice. Nothing.”
She said nothing in response, just stared up at him for the longest moment. The silence stretched between them until he reached out, cupped her face in his hand and leaned forward to kiss her.
A soft knock at the door interrupted them. It opened and Betsy ducked inside. She took one look at Graham, her eyes widened, and then she turned her face away. “Miss, the servants are up and about and I heard them talking in the kitchen that his lordship’s dinner hadn’t been touched. They gossip something awful,” the maid offered weakly.
In deference to the servant’s clearly scandalized state, Graham reached for the discarded sheet and wrapped it about his waist. “Can you get to my chamber and retrieve fresh clothing for me?”
“Yes, my lord,” Betsy answered. “We had the trunks brought down from the attic with the late Lord Blakemore’s things in them. They’ve all been laundered and aired out. You’ll be togged out like a lord ought to be.”
“Go fetch them for me,” he said.
“You’ve gotten very comfortable issuing orders for someone who wasn’t even sure a day ago that you were actually a lord,” Beatrice rebuked as Betsy made her escape, carting his discarded clothing with her.
“What’s got your feathers ruffled, Beatrice? That your maid found me here or that others might be whispering about us even now?”
“What has my feathers ruffled, Graham, is your autocratic behavior! You may be the Lord of Castle Black, but I’m not a servant for you to order about and command. I have a say in what happens between us.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “You certainly do. And if you say no to me because you truly do not want me, I will abide by it. But if you say no out of some ridiculous notion that I have to land myself an heiress for the sake of the family, I’ll ignore that as any sane man ought to.”
“It isn’t ridiculous! I will not see the home I love, the only home I’ve ever known destroyed because I was too selfish to do what was right!”
Betsy returned then and shushed them both. As if realizing that she’d just reprimanded her employer like one would an errant child, she said, “You can be heard in the corridor! Be mindful of what you say,” she whispered.
Graham reached for the breeches she’d delivered, managed to don them beneath the sheet, and then quickly tugged a shirt on over his head. “Clearly the dew is off the rose if we cannot avoid being at one another’s throats already. Can you get me to Lady Agatha’s chamber from here?”
“Yes, my lord. Not directly in, but just across the hall from it.”
“I will go check in on her and if anyone has questions about where I was or what I was doing, that should suffice as a handy enough alibi,” he offered.
*
Beatrice watched them leave, Betsy leading him through the maze of secret corridors and priest holes. She’d turned into a shrew and she had no notion of why. You do know. Her conscience pricked her once more. It was fear. Having given herself to him so completely, she knew that there was no going back. She would, in her heart at least, be tied to him forever.
The maid returned then. She stepped forward and lifted an impossibly tangled lock of Beatrice’s hair and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “I did tell you that a man would one day be very appreciative of it!”
“You judge me for the snarls in my hair more than the man in my bed,” Beatrice said with a shake of her head.
“Begging your pardon, Miss, but if the other women in this house knew what was hiding under his clothes, there’d have been a queue outside his chamber door… especially Mrs. Blakemore. With Mr. Blakemore gone off to London and Mr. Christopher hiding out in the village tavern all night, she near broke one of the footmen! Several of the maids said they could hear them carrying on!”
“You’ve always bordered on inappropriate, Betsy, but now you’re saying scandalous things on purpose!”
“No, Miss. Now, since I know that neither your ears nor any other part of you is virginal, I no longer have to censor the gossip I bring to you,” she answered smartly. “Mrs. Blakemore has been dallying with more than one of the footmen and the stable hands for years. Mr. Christopher was something of a surprise but, in truth, not completely unexpected.”
They’d somehow made it to her dressing table and Betsy was doing her best to untangle the knots. It would take a miracle, Beatrice thought. “How long has this been going on?”
“Since Mr. Blakemore brought her here,” the maid replied. “I never said anything to you because I always thought it was just the footmen. She’d not be the first lady to take one of her servants as a lover.”
“I suppose not. Do you think Edmund knows?”
“I think a better question, Miss, would be whether or not he cares.”
Beatrice continued to mull that over as, one by one, each of the snarls was coaxed out.
*
Graham knocked softly on Lady Agatha’s door and an exhausted Crenshaw finally answered. The woman looked haggard and tired. “Is there another servant in this house you would trust to watch over her?” There was no preamble, no softening of the statement and, at the woman’s startled look, he realized she feared being sacked. “It’s too much for one person to provide round the clock care, Crenshaw. If there is someone else, you may look after her in shifts so that you can get a decent amount of rest.”
The maid immediately relaxed, the tension seeping from her face. “My aunt is not currently employed here as she is retired. She had been Lady Agatha’s maid before I took up the position and resides with my mother in the village. I think she would welcome an opportunity to return to Castle Black to care for her ladyship.”
“Speak to Hammond and see about having her fetched then… if he questions it, tell him it is on my order.”
She bobbed a curtsy. “Certainly, my lord.”
Entering the suite as the maid exited, he crossed the small sitting room to Lady Agatha’s bedchamber. She lay in the center of the large bed looking impossibly fragile and weak. Her pallor was alarming enough but the fine sheen of perspiration on her skin was even more so.
“You are too ill. This cannot be good for you. Warner has decreased your dosage too quickly,” he stated.
She shook her head even as she beckoned him forward to the chair placed next to her bed. “Physically, the misery is nearly unbearable. Yet, my thinking is clearer than it has been in years, Graham. I would rather be done with it quickly if I can. I will gladly tolerate the discomfort for the desired outcome!” Her expression shifted, a worried look crossing her features as she glanced up at him. “You must believe that I did not know what Dr. Shepherd was about. I would never have knowingly succumbed to such a weakness! I find it utterly shameful.”
“I do believe that,” he agreed as he settled into the chair she’d indicated. “Your strength of character is not in question… what I do question is Dr. Shepherd’s motive. Is it possible that the laudanum was added to those elixirs and tonics in the hopes of making you more compliant?” It was an ugly suspicion. But he could not shake the thought that, perhaps, someone had been attempting to control Lady Agatha’s behavior by leaving her in a vulnerable state.
“Compliant with what?” she asked.
“With taking the necessary steps to have me declared dead and the title passed officially to Christopher?”
“There is no amount of opium that would ever have prompted such,” she denied vehemently.
“And when that was realized, someone began adding foxglove to the mix to eliminate you altogether… I very much fear,” he admitted reluctantly, “that we are not dealing with a straightforward case of one villain being responsible for all of the misdeeds in this house. I feel that there are multiple schemes in play and we are untangling all the threads at a snail’s pace.”
She shrugged sadly. “There have been too many accidents of late… Beatrice nearly drowning, someone shooting at you—and it was foolish of you to think you could hide such a thing from me in this house! I understand that Edmund and Christopher are the most likely suspects as they are the two people with the most to lose upon your return. But I cannot allow myself to think so badly of them. They are difficult, to be sure, but they are not evil. I cannot allow myself to think so”
Graham thought about the letter recovered from Eaves yesterday. He would not burden her with that just yet. Until she was stronger and until he could ascertain beyond any reasonable doubt that Edmund was the culprit, he would keep that unfortunate truth to himself.
“I will continue to look into things. Crenshaw is having her aunt fetched from the village to aid in your care as you recuperate… in the meantime, Edmund, Christopher and Eloise will not be permitted to enter this chamber. Only Beatrice, Dr. Warner, your maids and me will be able to see you. I fear we are at a point where it would be dangerous and foolhardy to trust anyone else.”
Lady Agatha sighed sadly and placed her hand over his. “You should not have returned to such an inhospitable welcome. We should all be rejoicing to have you safely amongst us again and yet it is nothing but plots and machinations! And here I lay, useless… nothing more than another burden for you to bear!”
Graham shook his head. “You are not a burden to me. I have spent almost the last two decades roaming this world without any inkling of where I belonged. Even now, I am between two worlds—too finely mannered to be a sailor and not yet fine enough to be the gentleman I claim. Acceptance from you means the world to me. And even if Edmund should succeed with his petition to the House of Lords, I will not abandon you here.”
“And Beatrice?” she asked pointedly. “What will become of her?”
Graham met her far too perceptive gaze. He’d made his decision. He’d made it long before the innocent temptress turned shrew had lured him into her bed. “Beatrice will be my wife, whether I am Lord Blakemore or not. She could accept me more easily if I am not, to be honest. This notion she has that the estate is in peril and I must wed an heiress… where has that come from?”
“Edmund is always going on and on about the estate operating at a loss. He insists we are hovering on the very precipice of poverty, though I cannot fathom why,” Lady Agatha replied. “I should have looked into things more closely, but I lacked the strength or the will to do so. If we are on the verge of being paupered, I am at fault for not taking a more active role in maintaining your legacy.”
“You take too much upon yourself. Your oldest son was missing and presumed dead for nearly two decades, your husband had just perished… it is only natural that you would look to people you trusted, to family, to help you in such dire times. But that is neither here nor there. My concern now is how? If we are bleeding money, how and where is it going?”
A pensive expression twisted her features as she considered that question. “Little has changed in the way the estate functions since your father’s passing. Which means that it must be in how the finances are managed that we have a problem.”
“Mismanaged,” Graham corrected. “From what I have learned from Beatrice, I think it is safe to assume that a good portion of the revenue produced by the estate is being utilized to see to the care and comfort of Sir Godfrey.”
Lady Agatha made a sound of disgust. “I never could abide him. How he and my dear Nicholas could be siblings when they are so different of character and quality is beyond me!”
“Are Christopher and I not so different then?” he asked. It was telling that she immediately looked away, a guilty flush coloring her face. The suspicion had been there, hovering in the periphery of his mind after their previous conversation. All her talk of not being a good wife and of Lord Blakemore’s mercy and forgiveness had fed that ugly seed of doubt. “He is not Lord Blakemore’s son, is he?”
Lady Agatha closed her eyes as a single tear escaped and rolled unchecked over her cheek. “He does not know my greatest shame and I beg of you not to tell him.”
“I see no reason to if it can be avoided. But I need to understand who the players in this very dangerous game are. Tell me what you can.”
She was silent for a long moment, collecting her thoughts and her courage. With a heavy sigh, she began. “It was while I was in France with your father. You were just a boy… ten when we first arrived there and twelve when we returned to England on that ill-fated ship.”
When she paused again and drew in a shuddering breath, he took her hand. “I know this is difficult for you to discuss. I wouldn’t press you if I didn’t feel the information were vital!”
“How can anything so ancient as this be vital?” she queried.
It was a question he was asking himself. “I cannot say. Perhaps it was because my memory was so lacking that I learned to trust something far more indistinct and difficult to fathom. For almost two decades I have lived primarily by instinct alone and it has not failed me. My instinct now tells me that this is important even if I cannot say how.”
Their gazes locked and after a long moment of silence, she said softly, “The first year was misery. Nicholas was always gone. You were a terror then. But you were a boy with no playmates, no friends, in a country you despised and that honestly despised us for being English! It’s little wonder you were difficult. I hated being trapped in that house and would take every opportunity to escape it.”
“And the second year?” he asked.
“I met a man while I was out shopping… a Frenchman named Etienne La Chance. Needless to say, that was false.” She grew silent again and her pain was evident, written clearly on her features. “Even now, I cannot be certain if anything he said to me was based in truth. I was lonely, terribly homesick and filled with a kind of ennui that I hope you never know. In short, I was easy prey for him. He seduced me to gain access to your father’s papers. If your father had not been such a kind man, such a forgiving one, I could very well have gone to the noose for treason.”
Graham sat back in the chair and contemplated his answer very carefully. “He loved you,” he finally said. “More than honor, more than country.”
She ducked her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. “You must despise me!”
He shook his head. “You are human, as we all are. At one time or another, we are all guilty of trusting the wrong person. I cannot imagine what it was like to learn the truth… and in such troubled times.”
“Are you certain this is important?” she demanded. “I have tried so very hard to forget those awful times. I thought losing you was my punishment! I’m still not certain that it wasn’t.”
“That is not how the world works,” he reproofed. “I’ve little enough acquaintance with religion, but I do believe that God exists and I doubt that He would let me suffer what I did for your sins, if you committed any.”
“Adultery is sin enough,” she scoffed.
“And if it were a divinely punished offense, more than half the ton would be in constant peril.”
She shook her head, but a slight smile curved her lips. “I do not for one moment believe that we are dissecting my checkered past for the sake of idle curiosity! I may be trapped in this bed by my weakened body but my mind, at least, is sound. Tell me why you need to know this.”
Graham ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “I cannot say. I’m not even entirely certain that I do. In the meantime, remain in your room and far from both Christopher and Edmund… and Eloise.”
“Very well… Crenshaw and her aunt will keep me well guarded. Between the two of them, they could raise enough noise to bring this whole castle down around our ears if the need should arise. And you will guard Beatrice carefully? She is not my child but, in many ways, she is the daughter I always wanted. Heaven knows I could never have been blessed with one better.”
“I will keep her safe,” he vowed. “I will keep both of you safe.”
Graham rose, the weight of that promise pressing heavily upon him as he left the room. He needed to find Dr. Warner. If Mesmer’s techniques could unlock his fragmented memory, he’d gladly look like a fool during the process.