Paying the Virgin's Price (20 page)

          And then she said, 'You would leave the table?'

          He blinked. 'If you wish.'

          'And never return?'

          His mouth opened automatically, ready to protest. But the thought that he could stop had never occurred to him. There had never been anywhere else to go. And now...

          She went on. 'Because I would have no use in my life for a gambler, Mr Wardale. And certainly no desire to attach myself to a man who would bring ruin upon us both.'

          Suddenly, it was clear to him how hard it must be for her to come to him and how fearful she must be that her married life would be a repeat of her mother's.

          And he knew he was standing at a crossroads. He could keep the life he had known and spend the rest of it financially safe at the tables he detested. And he would spend his nights alone. Or he could go with Diana today, into the unknown, with no guess as to how he would make a living for her, if the money he had was not enough for a family. Did he have skills, beyond cards and dice? He knew he was not a sailor. And he could not be an earl. But other than that, he had no idea who or what he might be. Until he found his way in the world again, every day would be a gamble.

          But then, he had always been a gambler. He smiled. 'This building has been more church to me than any other, for many years. When I am at the table, though I might bluff, I do not lie, I do not cheat, and I never welsh on a bet. If you win, I will walk away from here and I swear there will be no returning.'

          She shook her head ruefully. And then she smiled, and reached for the cards. 'Very well then. It is a game of chance, after all. There is no guarantee of the outcome. And you are said to be very lucky. Let us see how the play goes.'

          He looked down at his hand and knew that he could make nothing of it, and felt the swelling sense of relief that ultimate failure would give to him. 'I think I am very lucky indeed.'

          She looked down at her own cards, and did nothing to disguise the little moue of surprise on her face that he might have used to his advantage had he thought himself up to bluffing her. The play continued, and as she had with the previous hands, she beat him easily. She stared at the note on the table and blinked up at him in shock. 'I won.'

          'You did.' He grinned at her, feeling a lightness of spirit that had been missing since childhood, as though some great burden had been lifted from his back.

          'But does that mean...do you still wish...' Poor, sweet, sensible Diana was at a loss.

          'Very much so. Miss Price, would you do the honour of accepting my offer? You would make me a very happy man. And I will do everything in my power to be the husband you might wish.' He stood up from the table and came to her side, offering his hand to her.

          'I...I...Yes. I accept.' She was still looking at the cards, and then at him, as though the suddenness of it was quite overcoming her.

          So he pulled her out of her chair and close into his arms. And then he kissed her. Gently at first, and then slowly, ardently, passionately. And he felt her kiss him back, first with hesitance and then as she had on the night they'd been together, as though she did not wish the moment to end. When they parted, she looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye. 'Mr Wardale, really. We are in a public place. This is most improper.'

          He laughed. 'The place is most improper as well, Miss Price. My actions suit my environment. But if you wish to remove me from it, then perhaps my behaviour will moderate. Come, let us re-enter polite society. If you wish, I shall become the sort of lacklustre, milksop who would never dare to take you in his arms and kiss you senseless.'

          She reached down to the table and scooped her winnings into her reticule. And as an afterthought, took his marker, folded it carefully and tucked it down the bodice of her dress. 'I should certainly hope not, Mr Wardale. For both our sakes.' And then she smiled. 'We have much to talk of. There is the matter of Nell, for instance.'

          He smiled back, puzzled. 'And who might that be?'

          She seemed surprised at his reaction, and then said, 'Perhaps you know her as
Helena
, although she does not favour that name.

          'Helena?' His mind clouded for a moment, with distant memories. 'How could you know her? Or what she favours? I swear, I have said nothing.'

          She touched his arm, and leaned close to him, whispering in his ear. 'She is safe and well. Married to a dear friend of mine. Although a full reconciliation might be difficult, given recent events. But considering what has transpired between us, anything is possible, is it not?'

          'My sister, found safe?' He took a breath, and steadied himself as a feeling of relief hit him that nearly knocked him from his feet.

          'There is much I need to explain,' she rushed to tell him. 'And I am sorry to have kept it a secret. For I knew how important it is to you. But for a time, I wanted you to be hurt, and then... It is all so very complicated...'

          He stopped the words with a kiss. 'Do not trouble yourself. I am the last person to berate you for withholding a difficult truth from me.' He kissed her again. 'If Helena is safe, that scrap of knowledge is a gift. You can tell me the rest in good time. But we will have all the time in the world, soon enough. Marry me, Diana Price, and I shall truly be the luckiest man in England.'

          Nate glanced up at the shadowy figure standing near the door and put a protective arm around his bride-to-be.

          The Gypsy stared back at him, dark eyes unreadable. And then, he gave the smallest nod of approval, a shrug and a gesture that might have been a salute of farewell. And he was gone.

Epilogue

         
D
iana walked down the hall of her old house, to the study of her new husband. He spent much time here, poring over old papers, still searching for anything that might lead him to the true killer of Christopher Hebden. If not that, then he was sending discreet inquiries as to the whereabouts of his sister Rosalind, or penning hopeful notes to Nell, while trying not to upset her with suspicions about her new family.

          She hoped for success in this. But what little news she had managed to glean on the subject did not bode well for the Carlows. Although the girls had been forbidden to communicate with her, Verity had ignored her brother's command and sent several brief notes, urging her to seek a speedy reconciliation. In Diana's absence, Honoria was growing increasingly reckless. While Diana could not return as chaperone, perhaps the steadying influence of an old friend would be all that was needed to set things right.

          It was some comfort that it troubled Nathan as much as it did her, that another family would be thrown into chaos over what he might find. Were it not for his soft heart, he would be no better than the Gypsy. It would do him good to see what she had found, no matter how unpleasant it might be. 'Nathan,' she reached out for his hand from the doorway. 'Come with me. There is something I wish to show you.'

          He smiled at her, as he always did, and followed her up the stairs. She felt the warming of her blood as he paused, and she had to tug him past their bedroom door. 'Later,' she whispered.

          His eyebrow arched in surprise. 'Of course later. But now is nice as well.'

          'Later.'

          'If not there, then where are we going? For you are wearing a green dress and you know the effect that it has on me.'

          'It is a day dress and not particularly special,' she cautioned. 'And I often wear green because you claim to prefer the colour. If it troubles you, I will change.'

          'I'd hardly call it trouble. My feelings on seeing you are most easily remedied. But if you wish to change, I will make a suggestion. You are very fetching in a green dress. But you will be even more fetching out of it.' He grabbed at her, and she wondered how she could have ever feared that he would prefer gambling to a wife and family. His preference for her was obvious. And his enthusiastic attentions made family almost inevitable.

          She let him catch her, for a while. Then, she put his hands firmly to his sides and said, 'Definitely later. First, there is something you must see.'

          He sighed. 'Your tone is rather dire, my dear. I suspect you have put on the green dress to soften some kind of a blow.'

          She gave him a worried look. 'I fear you may be right. But I know it is something that will interest you, and now that I have found it, I must tell you. There are no secrets between us, after all.'

          'None,' he assured her.

          She led him to the end of the hall, to the stairs that led to the attics.

          'And what reason do we have to go here?'

          'I got the keys from Benton, and went searching. I thought that perhaps there were things that I remembered from my own youth that might be pleasant to see again.' She tried to sound casual at the suggestion, for she did not wish him to think she was dwelling in a past that she had promised she would forgive.

          But he nodded in perfect understanding. 'If you wish to see them, I will not have you traipsing round the lumber room in melancholy. And if you are adamant that you do not wish to redecorate the house...'

          'I do not. It is lovely the way it is. And very much in tune with your character.' Perhaps that was why she liked it so. While it was not the home she remembered, it was the haven of the man she loved above all in the world.

          He smiled, and there was a glint in his eye that made her think of Christmas. 'Then I fear we shall have to move your heirlooms to a place where you might enjoy them more fully.'

          'The country house?' They had honeymooned there. It was just as lovely as Hans Place. And while she enjoyed the novelty of riding or walking through the fields, without seeing a single soul, it seemed very far away from everything she was used to.

          He gave a small shake of his head. 'I was thinking, perhaps we could find a cottage. There is a place I know of, in Hammersmith. A few rooms, only. But there is a lovely garden and the deed is already in your name. If you wished to house your treasures there, you might visit them whenever you liked.'

          'A cottage,' she said, confused. 'For me?'

          'And me as well, if you would allow me there. Or not, as you choose. In any case, it is secured as yours, legal and proper.'

          'How did you know?' For hadn't this been exactly what she had dreamed of?

          He smiled again. 'Along with my other quests, I have been searching for a worthy wedding gift. And since I know very little about what a proper young lady might appreciate, I might have inquired of my sister, who might have asked the Carlow girls, who seemed to think you would be in favour of the idea. And considering my history, it does make sense, does it not? While I have no intention of backsliding into the gambling rogue that I was, let this gift be proof to you and those that love you that you will never be left homeless because of me.' He reached into his pocket and removed a most ordinary-looking key, which he placed in her hand, closing her fingers to wrap them around it. 'Does it please you?'

          She swallowed back tears of gratitude, and threw herself into his arms, kissing him most passionately. And then she whispered, 'As long as there is room enough for the two of us, it pleases me very well.' She dropped the key into her own pocket, and whispered, 'We shall visit it, soon, I think. And when we do, I shall wear green.' And she watched his eyes go dark in response.

          'But first, there is something I must show you. And I fear it is not so pleasant as what you have done for me.'

          She felt the slightest hesitation in his step, as he followed her. But considering what his life had been, he had no desire to seek more misery, though she was sure he would do it, if she asked him to.

          She led him to the back room she'd found and the small trunk under the window with the initials NW carved into the leather at the top. 'In searching for my own past, I have found a part of yours.'

          He stopped, staring at it. 'I had thought it lost, after all this time.' He looked at her, worried. 'Do you know what is there?'

          She nodded, for curiosity had caused her to lift the lid. 'It is better to face it, is it not? And there are papers.'

          'If I wish to prove my father's innocence, then they are all I have.' He smiled at her. 'But I am glad that I do not need to do this alone.' He leaned forward to kiss her, putting his warm arms about her and holding her close so that he could rest his chin against her temple. 'Together?'

          'Yes.' And she sat upon the floor beside him, as he examined the little chest.

          He stroked the wood, and let his fingers trail along the brass fittings. 'I have not seen this in years. It was all I had left, before I was forced into the Navy. I cannot even remember bringing it to the house. But obviously I did.'

          'Benton put it away, when you did not return. It has been waiting for you.'

          'I am glad I did not know. But if the thing Veryan wants still exists, then this is the only place I would know to look.

          She watched him steel himself, and unlatch the chest.

          And there, at the top, was the real silk rope. He put his hand on it again, after all these years. It looked no different to Diana than other ropes. It was black, not the gaudy colours of the Gypsy's imitation that he had shown her. She reached out a finger and prodded it carefully. It was soft to the touch, for it was silk.

          Nathan gave her as sad smile. 'As though it would be any better to be hung gently. I wonder if the person that had come up with the plan to hang nobles in silk recognized the irony of it? Or did they seriously think it was a last sign of respect?'

          She shuddered. 'It is disgusting, in any case.'

          'But better to keep it, than to see it cut into bits and sold to collectors. This is the only entail I was left to offer our children.' He picked it up and set it deliberately aside, so he could get to the things beneath.

          There was a loose collar stud in silver, engraved with a small L. A penknife, and pipe. He picked them up, and brought the pipe to his nose to get a whiff of the stale tobacco. 'Father's.' He gave a sentimental smile, and she rested a hand on his shoulder in support.

          'And mine.' There was a tiny lead soldier discarded beside them. He picked it up, and put it to the side with the other things.

          And then, there was a sheaf of paper. 'And this is what we have come to see.' He quickly sorted them into two stacks, by the hand they were written in. '
These
are the things written by my father. I do not see anything written by Hebden amongst the rest. I fear our quest is in vain, just as I thought it would be.' He riffled quickly through them. 'I must have read them all at one time, seeking comfort. And I don't recall anything that made me think of a code.' He shrugged. 'Of course, I was very young. Most everything that adults wrote might well have been a code to me, for all that I could understand of it.' He folded his legs, tailor fashion, and piled his father's letters into his lap to read by the light of the attic window.

          He was silent as he read, lost in his own past. And there was little for Diana to do, so she contented herself with reading the rest of the stack. It made her heart break to think of the poor little boy who had gathered everything he could find hoping to preserve the few remaining memories of his father. Here was a tailor's bill. And here a note of thanks from a long-ago friend, concerning a weekend of shooting at the Leybourne estate. And then, a note in a woman's hand.

          She read. And then said, 'Nathan, this is from Amanda.'

          She saw her husband flinch at the name. 'Kit Hebden's wife. You saw the journal. You must know what was said about them at the time. That note will do us no good, if I remember it for what it was. She wrote to him when he was in jail. I think she wanted him to confess. He passed me the letter, and bade me hide it from my own mother, because he said it would distress her. And so, I brought it back to hide amongst my things.'

          She gave him an amazed smile. 'That is not what this is at all. But you were a little boy when you read it. You must have stopped after a line or two, then put it away. What did you know of such things? Tell me if you do not see it differently, now.' She held up the paper and began to read.

          '"Tell them, William. My husband is dead, and I do not care who knows. There is no reason that you need keep secret what happened between us that night. Not if it means death for you. Kit would not hold it against you, for you know as well as I that he knew the truth and did nothing about it while he was alive. You might think there is honour in secrecy, but if it means that I retain my reputation only to watch you hang, then what good is my honour to either of us?"'

          He looked at her, his expression puzzled. And she said, 'Can you not see it, even now? He was with her on the night of the murder. At least the first part of that night. That is why your father was so eager for you to hide this letter. He was trying to protect her, and your mother. And she says that Kit Hebden did not mind. So it was not a crime of passion. Whatever was on your father's mind that night, it had nothing to do with codes or keys or spying. He had no reason to kill his lover's husband. The arrangement suited them all.'

          He read the letter again, and she watched the paper shake in his hand. 'You are right. My God, Diana. I think you are.' He looked at her in amazement. 'I don't know what Veryan will make of this, if anything. And I don't know if I dare show it to the Gypsy, for if he has any scrap of love left for his stepmother, then he will not welcome this news. But you are right. Nothing here makes my father out as traitor.'

          She smiled. 'And you thought there would be nothing at all.'

          He smiled back. 'It is but a scrap of information. But a scrap is more than I ever hoped to find. It is enough to build on, at any rate.' He rose and dusted off his pants. 'And it renews hope in me. My father was innocent, just as he said.'

          'And if that is true...'

          He squared his shoulders. 'Then whatever people may say of him, I am proud to be his son. I will clear my name, and his as well. And even if it takes me a lifetime, I shall make you the Countess of Leybourne, my dear.' He held out a hand to her, lifting her to her feet again, and led her down the stairs to their rooms.