Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12. Ann Lethbridge
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we got into the Temple of Beauty, Captain—we bribed a footman who made sure the way was clear. And in the office we found that little green book what you told us about, hidden inside a heavy great thing called The Myths of Ap—The Myths of Aplo—’
‘Apollodorus.’
‘That’s it, Captain. It said that your brother, Lord Stephen, had indeed been there three years ago. The summer of Vittoria. In fact, he visited several nights in a row—it was in Dr Barnard’s notes. Here you are, McGrath wrote it down: Paid particular attention to the young blonde innocent from the country. Reckon his lordship took her away for his own purposes …’
Alec was breathing hard. That must be it. His brother, Stephen, had seduced Rosalie’s sister. Was quite possibly Katy’s father. That was why Stephen had been after Rosalie that night at Dr Barnard’s; why he had hunted Rosalie down at the poetry reading, after setting fire to her home; why Stephen had sent that threat and offered the underworld reward for her. His damnably craven brother wanted to stop her search. Perhaps more.
How in hell was he going to tell Rosalie?
His next question—should he tell Rosalie?
Rosalie didn’t even know that Stephen was Alec’s brother. Hell’s teeth, she would fly at Stephen, she would go for him hammer and tongs; she wouldn’t care that Stephen, as well as being despicable, could also be damnably dangerous, with his money and his powerful friends.
Alec would have to deal with Stephen himself. He fisted his hands. The question was—how? Not, unfortunately, by telling her the truth.
Garrett was still watching him. ‘She’s out in the garden, Captain,’ Garrett said quietly. ‘And we’re keeping an eye on her, never fear.’
It was a little after ten and the darkness outside was illuminated by the pale moon’s glow. The lingering scents of rosemary and lavender filled the air, because Rosalie had been working earlier to uncover an old herb garden. But now she was just sitting on a bench and watching the stars come out, with Ajax lying by her feet. Why are you waiting up for him, you fool? He could be hours. If he came back tonight …
The thought stabbed her. So she’s back in town.
Time and time again she’d told herself she was mad to allow this man whom fate had hurled in her path to hurt her so, but apparently there was no end to her stupidity. Indeed, she was just getting up to go inside when she heard the back door opening into the yard; as Ajax barked eagerly, her stomach did a painful flip-flop.
Alec came around the corner and stopped when he saw her there. The silvery moonlight outlined the stark masculinity of his features. Be calm. Be controlled.
He came closer. He’d taken off his coat on this warm night, so only his white shirt covered his powerful upper torso. Ajax jumped up to greet him, pawing at his tight cream kerseymere breeches and polished boots; Alec simply stroked the dog’s shaggy head. ‘Mrs Rowland. I thought you would be in your room by now.’
His dark, brooding gaze caused her pulse rate to race. Somehow she smiled back and gave a little shrug. ‘It’s such a lovely night.’
‘You’ve been looking at the stars?’
‘Looking at the stars.’ She nodded.
‘Tell me what you see.’
‘There’s Vega—the brilliant blue-white star in the constellation of the Lyre. My mother used to say it was the sign of summer returning when Vega climbed overhead—’ She broke off. Stop babbling, you fool. ‘I hope you enjoyed yourself at your party, Captain Stewart?’
He had tugged loose his cravat—the Gordian knot—and unwittingly rumpled his hair. Already, dark beard-growth was shadowing his lean jaw. He was looking like Captain Stewart of Two Crows Castle again. And, oh, she had to resist the physical onslaught on her beleaguered senses.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘It was tedious. These affairs always are. So I left early.’ He was looking around the garden with an air of mystification. ‘You’ve done something to it all. It looks different.’
‘To be truthful, I was glad to find something here that I could do,’ she said quickly. ‘And Garrett recruited some men to help. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Twisting us all round your little finger, Mrs Rowland? No. Why should I?’
‘There are so many wonderful plants out here.’ She was pointing. ‘My mother used to have this one—it’s called anemone pavonina. Isn’t it beautiful?’
He was looking at her, not at the scarlet flowers. She just kept on surprising him with her knowledge. With her own damned beauty. ‘You told me your mother loved her garden in Oxfordshire. But surely it was only small?’
‘Yes, but her home in France used to be famous for its gardens; people would travel from far and near to admire them—’ She broke off, seeing his expression.
‘Would travel … Where did your mother live?’
She had frozen. ‘I thought I told you. She was born in a fine house—a château …’
‘You didn’t tell me that.’ He was watching her with a slight frown. ‘It strikes me you’ve seen even more changes of fortune than me.’
Around the lantern that hung by the back door, the moths fluttered in a distracting dance. She felt as if she were being drawn to a flame also, helpless as those poor creatures. Alec. She remembered his kiss. His hands caressing her. Heat flooded her at his nearness.
She eased her dry mouth and tried to smile. ‘I’ve only really known our rather penny-pinched existence in Oxfordshire. My mother’s family’s fortunes vanished during the Revolution and she always told us that all her relatives fled from Paris.’
‘You have lost a great deal in your life, Mrs Rowland.’
She lifted her gaze to him steadily. ‘So many have lost more. You know that.’
‘You’re thinking about my soldiers?’
‘Indeed. I know nothing about war, but I hate to hear it glorified. I know that Lord Byron visited the field of Waterloo and detested all the pointless spilling of blood. The red rain, he called it, that made the harvest grow, but achieved so little else …’ Her voice faded away.
For one brief moment Alec recalled the horrors of the battlefield. The screams of the dying. The heaps of dead … He turned to gaze at her, unable to help himself. Such tenderness. Such—awareness of all the sadness in the world. So very different to those harridans who’d surrounded him at Lord Fanton’s tonight, with their simpering daughters who adored a war hero in uniform, but knew nothing of the reality of war. Damn it all, he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to take her in his arms, carry her up to his bed and soothe away the sadness in her eyes by making passionate love to her.
You fool. He clamped down hard on the arousal that was pounding through his veins. ‘Rosalie. I think I might have picked up some more news about your sister tonight.’
‘Oh, is that why you went out?’ Immediately she could have bitten her tongue off. ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘Ridiculous of me to expect you to become as obsessive about my sister’s story as me.’
‘Obsessive is hardly a fair word,’ he said, ‘for a search after justice like yours. But will you tell me exactly what you remember about the threats that were delivered to your friend Helen?’
Her brow puckered slightly. ‘When her press was wrecked? And the fire started? Let me see. The first note said, Gossip-raking bitch. That was all. But the second one said, Write one more word about Lady A., and you and those close to you will be the target next, not just the house.’
Alec was very still. ‘Do you know who this Lady A. is?’
‘No.