Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow. Anne O'Brien
match to a trail of gunpowder.
‘No.’
‘So?’
‘If you must know—’ the leather satchel was flung onto the desk with little vestige of control ‘—it is a tactical retreat before superior forces.’
Silence.
Until Joshua faced his cousin, hands fisted on hips. ‘What is your next question? Are you perhaps going to ask me if I murdered my wife?’ he snarled. ‘You have been remarkably restrained with regard to the fraught topic of Marianne.’ It had been a long and frustrating day. He had not enjoyed the confrontation with Wycliffe or its outcome.
‘I have, haven’t I? But it was not my intent. Not unless I wanted a sharp left to the jaw.’ Nicholas raised his brows, waited a heartbeat. ‘But since you broached the issue… Did you? The gossips sound very sure.’
‘No. I did not.’ Joshua’s face was cold and bleak, in contrast to his eyes, which blazed with molten fire.
‘So where did the tale arise?’
‘A slighted woman, is my guess.’ He flung himself into a chair and picked up the glass that Nicholas had thoughtfully poured for him.
‘Ah. The Countess of Wexford? I thought as much. Beware a woman scorned, particularly one as self-seeking as the fair Countess. I doubt that she enjoyed being evicted from her role in this household.’
‘She had no role in this household.’
‘Well… I expect that she wished she had.’ Nicholas grinned in appreciation. ‘The lady has certainly sharpened her claws and is now intent on sinking them into your tender flesh. The scandal has taken the town by storm.’
‘As I know to my cost!’ Joshua put down the glass with a force that threatened the perfection of the faceted crystal. ‘But I am innocent of this, Nick. I did not murder my wife! Marianne…she is…was…!’ Aware of Wycliffe’s warning and the crevasse opening before the unwary, Joshua bit down on any further incriminating words.
Nicholas choked on his brandy.
‘She’s what? I thought she was dead.’
‘Nothing! She is.’
‘Sher…perhaps you need to tell me just what is going on. Of course you did not murder your wife. No one with any sense believes that you did. But something is afoot. What is it?’
Joshua gritted his teeth, the muscles of his jaw hardening. ‘That, Nick, is the whole problem. I must keep a still tongue in my head.’
‘Does Sarah know?’
‘No, she does not.’
‘Will you take her to Paris with you?’
Oh, God! ‘Yes…no. I haven’t decided. It is none of your affair!’
‘I just thought…’
‘What did you just think?’ Joshua glared at him.
‘That it would be better for Sarah if you took her with you.’
Joshua sighed. Of course he should take her with him. She would be devastated if he left her in London. He knew enough of Sarah’s state of mind to know that she would see it as a personal slight. But there was her safety to consider if death and violence were to be the order of the day in Paris.
‘It might,’ he said quietly, ‘be in the interest of Sarah’s safety if I left her here.’
Nicholas placed his glass carefully on the desk before raising keen eyes to pin his cousin down. ‘Sher—you can tell me to go to the devil, of course, but—are you involved in government work—something conspiratorial, perhaps—which necessitates your silence? Something which is not without its dangers?’
‘Why do you say that?’ The silver eyes narrowed with suspicion, but did not waver.
‘No reason. It is just that—’
‘You have a fertile imagination.’ Joshua was increasingly aware of a compulsion to unburden himself to his cousin. To lay before him the whole intricate web of plots and devious scheming that could undermine the peace achieved after Waterloo. To admit to the identity of The Chameleon. And knew he must not. He closed his eyes momentarily against it.
‘Perhaps I have. So you have no intention of unburdening yourself.’ It was as if Nicholas had sensed the internal battle, impulse waging war against necessity.
‘No.’
‘Very well. If that is what you truly wish.’ Nicholas pushed himself to his feet. ‘I cannot force you. But remember, if you ever need a sympathetic ear… ‘
‘Forgive me, Nick.’ Joshua also stood forcing his muscles to relax, managing a wry smile. ‘It is not my intention to appear churlish.’
‘But you do!’
‘All I can say is that the decision to unburden myself—as you put it so aptly—is not mine to make.’
Nicholas began to make his way to the door. Then, on a thought, looked back. ‘Do I surmise that your…er…colourful reputation is not as dire as you would have us believe? That it has all been a disguise for some undercover project?’
‘Surmise what you will.’ Nicholas could read nothing in Joshua’s expression. ‘But don’t discuss such an idea with Thea. Because she will surely talk to Sarah. And then where shall we all be!’
‘What an interesting life you lead, Sher!’ Now Nicholas laughed. ‘I never could accept that you were such a black sheep in the family as you would have us believe.’
‘Ha! I fear that my interesting life, as you put it, is about to call in its debts.’ For a moment Joshua hesitated, wondering if he were about to make a mistake, but was encouraged by the understanding smile on his cousin’s face. ‘You could do one thing for me.’
‘And that is?’
‘Come to Paris with me. I have the strangest feeling that I might just need your support.’
‘Will the Countess of Wexford be there?’
‘Highly likely. Now that she has done all the damage she can in London.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Thea will love it. She is not unacquainted with the city. Sir Hector was ambassador there for some months.’
‘I did not mean that Thea should… But of course she would accompany you.’ Joshua looked dubious at the prospect.
‘What—me go Paris with you—and leave Thea at home?’ Nicholas laughed aloud. ‘Have your wits entirely gone begging, man? When did any fashionable woman refuse a chance to go to Paris?’
‘Forgive me, Nick—I seem to have said that more than once this afternoon!’ Joshua bared his teeth in a passable smile and now, for the first time, there was some warmth there. ‘How crass of me! Perhaps both you and your formidable wife can give my fast-disintegrating reputation some much-needed support.’
That same night Joshua had intended to dine early at home before escorting Sarah to the theatre at Covent Garden. To hell with the gossips! And the devil take Wycliffe with his insinuations concerning Sarah’s loyalties! He would not turn and run from public gaze. Had they not flung down a challenge at the Exhibition and survived the ordeal? But at the eleventh hour he could not face running the gauntlet of the tiers of boxes with their avid eyes and raised lorgnettes, pretending ignorance of the knowing looks and speculation on his relationship with Marianne. The discussion of his sins both in general and in wicked particular. His respect for Eleanor and Henry, who had done exactly that, multiplied. But he guessed, rightly, that Sarah would find no enjoyment in the performance if they were providing the audience with more entertainment than the actors on the stage.
Wycliffe’s lack of sympathy and insistence that