England's Perfect Hero (33 page)

"Rob… yes. He did ask me. This morning, as a matter of fact."

Ice trailed through his chest. "And what was your answer?" He couldn't breathe, but he needed to know. They'd just made love again, but she seemed determined to separate her feelings from her thoughts where her future was concerned. That was how she meant to keep things simple and amiable, he supposed. For his part, though, if she'd agreed to marry Geoffrey it changed how he meant to approach this.

"I said… I said I needed a little more time to consider," she said slowly, then shoved at his chest before she strolled around the corner away from him. "
Go
."

She hadn't agreed to marry Geoffrey. For a moment nothing else mattered. An out-and-out refusal would have suited him better, but a plea for time meant something as well. He could use a little time himself to figure out what he was going to do and what she would think of him as a consequence. One thing he'd lost all patience for, however, was dishonesty. Whoever had stolen those papers should have simply taken them and left—not stayed lurking in the shadows and allowed, even encouraged, someone else to take the blame.

Heavy footsteps clomped in his direction. "I asked what you were doing behind the stable," General Barrett's voice came.

Robert faded back into the shrubbery, crouching in the deep shade of an overhanging elm. The general stalked around the corner, his fists clenched and his color high. Clearly he expected to see one of her friends or other, and he spun a circle to glare into the bushes.

"I told you, I was thinking," Lucinda said, joining him. "What in heaven's name is wrong? You frightened me half to death, yelling like that."

Good girl
. She had to hate lying to the general, but it meant that she did trust in Robert if she'd decided to keep silent about his visit. Still, he tried not to let it mean too much.

Whatever had upset Barrett, Lucinda managed to get him into the house before the neighbors could hear any of the arguing. Robert disliked leaving her there, but if he stepped into the middle of it, things would only get worse for all of them. And besides, he had some things he needed to look into, which he couldn't do if General Barrett had him arrested.

He slipped down the street and hailed a hack to drop him off behind Carroway House. From there it was simple, even with his game leg, to hop a fence and climb the trellis back into his bedchamber. To cover for Lucinda in case her father wanted to know if he'd been lurking about earlier, he then headed downstairs and out around the side of the house to water his roses again. Both of his watchers remained in the bushes across the street, and obviously had no idea he'd gone anywhere. If he wasn't careful, he was going to kill his plants with overwatering.

"I wish the Runt attended to his studies as well as you attend to those roses," Tristan drawled, coming outside to watch him.

"I'm just making an appearance," Robert returned, jerking his head in the direction of their skulking audience.

"Did Lucinda have any insights?"

Robert straightened. "I wasn't going to ask her for any, but it doesn't matter anyway. She won't help. She said it's not fair that she trusted me and isn't supposed to trust Geoffrey." The fact that she refused to differentiate between the two of them angered him, but he would dwell on that later.

"She has a point."

"Yes, she does. Which means I'll have to go about this the hard way."

Tristan blew out his breath. "I wish you'd stop saying that."

"Saying what?"

" 'I.' And yes, I know, you're going to tell me again that this is your problem, and that you'll deal with it, and that the rest of us need to stay out of trouble."

"Exactly," Robert agreed, tossing the watering can back beside the stable.

"Bullocks."

Lifting an eyebrow, Robert folded his arms. "Beg pardon?"

The viscount took a step closer, putting a hand on Robert's shoulder. "Think about it, Robert. Where do you want to be tomorrow? Next week? If you don't care, then definitely keep us out of this. If you do, we're here for you."

With that, he strolled back around the front of the house. Robert dusted off his trousers and followed. A few weeks ago, he wasn't certain he would have had an answer to Tristan's question. How could he possibly know where he wanted to be in the future, when he didn't deserve one?

Recently, though, the question—and its answer—had become much more complicated. Where did he want to be tomorrow? With Lucinda. Next week, forever? With Lucinda. Robert stopped on the front step, ignoring Dawkins holding the door open for him.

Good God. He was eight and twenty years of age. Of those, he'd served in the British Army for three years, and had been all but dead for nearly four. He'd known he'd been getting better, slowly, in the last two years or so, though it felt more like clawing his way out of a pit than making improvement. But in the past weeks, things had changed. He felt… alive. And even the accusations and the mutterings served to bring his emotions—his anger and his long-buried instinct for survival—back into play.

And along with that, he'd been rediscovering his sense of humor, and his passion—and for that he needed to thank Lucinda. It wasn't gratitude that he felt most strongly, though. He wanted her, and he wanted to hold her, and talk with her, and protect her, and just look at her. And he definitely did not want anyone else to have her.

"Bit, are you coming in?" Tristan called.

"I'll be right there."

So he did have a reason to want Lord Geoffrey Newcombe to be the culprit in this whole mess. And he wanted to tell Lucinda Guinevere Barrett something that wouldn't have been easy for him even before he'd been captured and taken to Chateau Pagnon. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. And even if it didn't change her plans for a simple life, he wanted to know whether she could ever, possibly, perhaps, love him a little, as well.

If he ever wanted the opportunity to find out, he needed to solve this—and quickly. And so he would have to do something else he wouldn't have been able to do a few weeks ago: He needed to ask for help.

Lucinda wanted to tear her hair out. Instead, she sat in her father's office, hands folded on her lap, while he paced the floor and ranted about her dearest friends.

"And Lieutenant Staeley's report says that pages are now missing from the visitors logbook! Am I supposed to believe that's a coincidence?"

Since she knew it wasn't, and she'd even seen the pages, Lucinda kept her mouth shut. She needed to think anyway—as difficult as it was to do with her father yelling like that. But out of all the names on those pages, Robert had chosen to be suspicious of Geoffrey. Was he jealous? A shiver of goose bumps ran down her arms.

"Apparently the damned Carroways have managed to dupe Lady St. Aubyn into playing their little games, too! Hopefully, St. Aubyn has more sense."

When she looked at all of this logically, with no stake in either Geoffrey or Robert's innocence, it didn't point at one or the other of them. Robert had been a survivor of Chateau Pagnon for three years, so she had no reasonable explanation as to why he would select last week to begin life as a traitor. As for Geoffrey, the general had enlisted his help with the Salamanca chapter… what, four weeks ago? And…

And he'd taken to visiting her father at the Horse Guards since then. Lucinda shook herself. No. It was a coincidence, just as the news about Robert and the theft had coincidentally come to public notice at the same time.

"I don't think I have a choice, any longer," her father was saying. "I've tried to give him the benefit of the doubt for your sake, but this debacle aside, we now have a theft, obviously on his behalf, made in broad daylight—and again at the Horse Guards! How much more evidence do you need, Lucinda?"

She blinked. "From what you said, at least thirty people were in the entryway during the time those log pages went missing, Papa."

"Ah, so this
is
another coincidence? Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"I expect that you know Georgiana and Evelyn almost as well as you know me," she returned. "They aren't criminals."

"I didn't say they did it for themselves. It's Dare's damned brother. Again." Growling, he dropped into his desk chair, threw open a drawer, and yanked out a piece of paper. "And it's time he answered some questions. Officially."

"You're going to have him arrested?" she squeaked, abruptly glad she was sitting down.

"I'm going to request that he report to the Horse Guards for questioning. If he refuses to cooperate, I will have him arrested, yes."

"No!" She shot to her feet, yanking the pen out of her father's hand.

"Lucinda! Are you mad? Give that back at once!"

Oh, she should never have refused to help Robert. All he needed was a little time—either to solve this mess, or to flee to Scotland or abroad. A tear ran down her cheek. She didn't want him to go anywhere. She wanted him here, in London, with her.

"Lucinda!"

"You will give him one more day, Papa," she said, her voice shaking. "If you don't—"

"If I don't, then what?" he snapped, his color high.

"If you don't, then I will never speak to you again," she said slowly, another tear following the first.

"You…" He trailed off, the blustering anger in his face fading as he studied her expression. "You're serious."

"Yes, I am."

The general lowered his head. When he straightened again, he looked more tired and old than she'd ever seen. "A few years ago, I would have had him in jail and confessing by now," he said in a quieter voice, "damn the consequences. Now, however, I find that my daughter's affection comes before my career, and my duty to my country."

"Papa."

"This is Wednesday. I will give him until noon on Friday," the general said. "I suggest you send him a note to inform him of that deadline. But he will be watched during that time. And if he leaves, he'd best not take those papers with him. If we don't find them here in London, I
will
see him hunted down."

"Thank you, Papa," she whispered, standing.

"And Lucinda, I suggest you make it clear that running would be a good idea. I don't want him in England, regardless of his involvement with this theft."

She looked at her father for a moment. From the vehemence of her protest, he no doubt realized that she considered Robert more than a mere friend. So the general had his own reasons for wanting to be rid of a rival to Geoffrey—the man he obviously favored. For heaven's sake, he'd already granted permission for them to marry. That should have made her happy. But it didn't. "Robert is innocent," she said firmly.

"I hope you're right, for both our sakes."

She hoped so as well. Because if he
did
run, she wasn't certain she could let him go alone.