A Husband's Wicked Ways (14 page)

“I should hope not.” The comment was a trifle acerbic.

“You sound as if you disapprove.” Her own voice had a snap to it.

“I do,” he said shortly. “Bonham’s work is highly secret. I’m surprised he took his wife into his confidence, and even more surprised that he allowed her to share the information with her friends.”

“Perhaps you should ask him for an explanation then,” Aurelia said coldly. “The circumstances were exigent to say the least.”

“They would have to be.” He frowned at her over the lip of his glass. “There will be no such exigent circumstances with this enterprise.”

“I have already given my word.”

He turned and placed his glass on the mantelpiece. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to doubt it. But there is only one cardinal rule in this business, Aurelia. Never trust anyone.
Ever.
”

“Not even you?” She stared at him.

“You may trust me to protect you as best I can, but I cannot promise in all other respects that you will hear only the truth from me. There may well be circumstances when it will be necessary for me to deceive you, and you should be prepared for that.”

Aurelia was cold suddenly. His gray eyes were dark and unreadable as they looked steadily at her. Harry and Nell trusted each other, she thought. Alex and Liv trusted each other, and both Harry and Alex were involved, albeit in different ways and in Alex’s case for a different master, in the same dirty business of this war that held Greville in thrall. But then she thought how, in the beginning for both couples, there had been no trust, no confidences. Harry and Alex had gone about their business, using Nell and Liv for their own ends, keeping the women in the dark. Until the truth had exploded into the light. And Nell and Liv had had to reconcile themselves to the knowledge that their lovers had not trusted them until trust was forced upon them.

Greville had told her the truth from the outset. He had sought her partnership in his enterprise from the outset. She was under no illusions about their relationship. Perhaps this was better. An open acceptance of reality. No pretense. No emotional traps. She did what she did with full knowledge.

“So you don’t trust
me
.” It was a flat statement.

“I
never
trust anyone.”

“So you didn’t trust Frederick?”

Greville sighed and picked up his glass again. He sipped and frowned into the fire for a moment before turning back to her. “I liked Frederick very much, but he understood the rule. One must sever oneself from past ties. In our business we must avoid all talk of family, of our past lives, of emotions. We have to learn to be ciphers as far as possible, men with no history and no friendships. Why else do you think I did not know that his wife was his sister’s best friend?”

“I would have thought that might have been useful to know.”

He smiled, that rueful, slightly self-deprecating smile that never failed to disarm her. “Yes, in this instance, it would have been useful to break the rule.”

“I would have said that it’s always worth accepting that sometimes rules must be broken.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment, his eyes hooded as he looked at her. “I seem to be breaking one of my cardinal rules already,” he said softly.

Aurelia put her head on one side, her eyes narrowed. “Oh? Which one is that?”

He shook his head as if dismissing a comment that he certainly hadn’t intended to make and drank his wine, glad when the door opened to admit Mary and Bessie with dinner. “Come to the table.”

Aurelia took her seat hungrily, but wondering even through her preoccupation with the offerings on the table which cardinal rule he was breaking.

Greville sliced roast pork onto her plate and placed a crisp, golden wedge of crackling beside it. He served himself and took his own seat. He should not have made that last comment, it was yet further evidence that his guard was slipping. It was all very well to dictate the rules, but it was not all very well to ignore them oneself.

T
HE REST OF THEIR TIME IN
Essex passed in a daze, for which Aurelia was grateful. She was too busy, too mentally stimulated, to allow herself the time or energy to dwell on inconvenient sensations around her companion, and Greville seemed to withdraw a little, to create a distance between them. He was the master, she the pupil, and there was so much to learn, so many minute details to be mastered.

By their final evening, she felt in many ways as if she’d become a different person, one who saw the world very differently. Greville had taught her to notice things, tiny details she would probably never have registered in the past. He’d taught her to use certain words and phrases that, while sounding ordinary to anyone else, would convey a specific meaning to him. He’d shown her a range of gestures that he could read across a room. She still disliked using a firearm, but she was no longer squeamish and believed that if it was ever necessary, she
could and would pull the trigger. And she was becoming adept at dodging pursuit. True, so far he always came up with her before she reached safety, but he admitted he was finding it harder every time.

The real test would be on the streets of London. She’d have to hope that her now more refined perception would tell her if someone was following her in that maze. Greville had shown her some of the more common practices of surveillance to recognize a follower, but she was by no means confident that she would always get it right. However, as far as she understood this partnership, her role would be merely an extension of the life she lived now. She would be going to the same activities, mingling in the same social circle, but with a specific purpose, as Greville’s eyes and ears. She was as unlikely to be dodging pursuit down the back alleys of London as she was to need to fire a pistol.

“You’ll be able to sleep in a little tomorrow if you wish,” Greville said over their last dinner in the shabby parlor. “We don’t need to be on the road until nine. That will give us ample time to catch the noon coach to London.”

“Not the stagecoach again?” Aurelia grimaced over the lip of her wineglass. “Surely we could hire a post chaise.”

“You may,” Greville said, cutting himself a wedge of cheese. “But I must return by stage.”

“Oh.” Aurelia was conscious of a faint stirring of dismay. “We’re to separate now?” So this was the end of the training. From now on she was to be on her own.

“Only temporarily.” He nibbled at the cheese. “You will take a hired post chaise back to Cavendish Square, having come hotfoot from Bristol, where your aunt has made a successful recovery. I will return to London as anonymously as I left it. And Colonel, Sir Greville Falconer will pay a formal call in Cavendish Square the day after tomorrow.”

Aurelia nodded. “And then what?”

“The first thing I am going to do is sign a lease on a furnished house on South Audley Street. That will serve as my base.” He took a sip of wine. “It would be appropriate for you, once our engagement is announced, to show some interest in its redecoration, furnishings, et cetera. So it will give us a discreet meeting place. It’s not as grand a mansion as Cavendish Square, or, indeed, Viscount Bonham’s establishment on Mount Street, but it’s not without elegance.”

“I’m sure it will suit you very well,” she said, since it seemed the only appropriate thing to say. “And then what?”

“A whirlwind courtship, I think. We won’t have enough freedom of movement until we’ve made things official. We’ve already been formally introduced by Viscount Bonham, so that hurdle is overcome. From now on I shall haunt your door and you will let it be known discreetly that you are not averse to my attentions. In three weeks my aunt is giving a rout party in my honor. I suggest we use that occasion to make our intentions public.”

“Three weeks…that’s such a short time,” Aurelia said with a grimace. “How am I to convince my friends that I’ve fallen hook, line, and sinker in love with a man I’ve only known for a month?”

He said nothing for a moment, looking at her as he sometimes did, as if he were seeing her for the first time, then pushed back his chair and slowly rose to his feet. He came around the table, took her hands, and drew her to her feet. “Perhaps I’ve neglected one aspect of preparation for this mission,” he murmured.

A heady rush of excitement fizzed in her veins, and her belly and thighs tightened involuntarily as she felt her nipples peak against her linen bodice.

He took her face between his hands, stroked the curve of her cheek with a fingertip, traced the contours of her mouth. He bent and kissed her right ear, grazing the lobe with his teeth, one finger moving now to press against the pulse in her throat as her head fell back, offering her mouth for his kiss.

Her arms slid around his waist, her hands flattening against his buttocks as he brought his mouth to hers. She gloried in the taut muscles that seemed to tighten even more beneath her stroking, kneading fingers. His tongue was in her mouth and her own was joined with his in a wild dance of thrust and parry. Her body was on fire, her blood surging wildly in her veins, and the calm and collected widow of Cavendish Square belonged in some other world. Aurelia exulted in the sensation and the knowledge that no one, but no one, from the ordi
nary world knew where she was or could begin to imagine her as she was at this moment.

At last Greville released her mouth and raised his head. He drew a deep breath and ran a finger over her swollen lips, a rather rueful smile in his gray eyes. “Oh, dear,” he murmured. “I have a feeling I’m going to find it difficult to be as objective as I would like in this enterprise.”

Aurelia stepped back, letting her hands fall from him. She drew a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. Not only had she been unprepared for that flood of physical arousal, she couldn’t remember ever experiencing anything like it before. She had enjoyed lovemaking with Frederick, but that sense of being caught up in a wild, tumbling whirlwind of desire was quite new.

“If we’re to make this romantic interest convincing, perhaps we shouldn’t aim for too much objectivity,” she managed to say.

“Perhaps,” he agreed with a slight twitch of a frown. He stood still, his eyes fixed on her countenance, but this time she had the disconcerting feeling he wasn’t really seeing her.

“What is it?” she asked involuntarily.

He seemed to snap himself back into the room. “Nothing…nothing at all. But you should get some sleep. It grows late.”

“Yes,” she agreed, moving away from him to the door. “I’ll be down by eight in the morning.”

“Good night, then. Sleep well.” He opened the door.
As she passed, he seemed to draw back deliberately, creating space between them. Aurelia gave him a brief smile and left the parlor.

Abovestairs, she packed her portmanteau before preparing for bed, but her thoughts were not on her packing. Greville had been as passionately responsive to that kiss as she had been, he had admitted as much. So why was he afraid to yield to that passion and desire? Was he afraid it would interfere with his work? Was he afraid of any involvement that was not strictly concerned with his mission? She had no answers now, but sometime during the next three months that he expected this mission to last, she would find them. She would be on familiar ground, operating in familiar situations among familiar people, and she would be all the stronger for it.

She went to bed and surprised herself by sleeping soundly. Clearly an unquiet mind was no match for an exhausted body, she reflected when she awoke to bird-song and sunshine. She dressed quickly and went downstairs, only to be told by Mary that Master Greville had already breakfasted and gone out. She was to break her own fast and be ready to leave in half an hour.

Greville appeared in the parlor within twenty minutes, dressed in his farmer’s garb. “Your cloakbag is in the gig, so as soon as you’re ready…?”

“I’m ready now.” It seemed the only appropriate answer. Aurelia abandoned her toast and honey. “I’ll fetch my pelisse.”

“It’s in the hall.” He gestured as he opened the door for her.

Clearly there was to be no hint of a reminder, covert or otherwise, of the previous evening. “If you don’t mind waiting just a few more minutes, I’d like to use the privy,” she said deliberately. “It’s a little more salubrious than those I will encounter on the way to London.”

“Hurry up then.”

Aurelia shot him a look of irritation and brushed past him. Ten minutes later she was sitting in the gig and they were on the way back to the inn at Barnet.

“You have the story clear?” he asked as he turned the horse into the lane.

“Yes. We met by chance in Bristol, where you were on family business, and I was taking care of my aunt. We’d already been introduced in London, so it was natural enough for us to spend some time together,” she recited. “And, of course, in those circumstances it will be perfectly understandable for you to call upon me in Cavendish Square as soon as we both return to London.”

Greville nodded but said nothing. They journeyed the rest of the way in silence. At the coaching inn, Greville handed back the gig to the innkeeper and went to make arrangements for a post chaise to take Aurelia back to London.

It was a much more comfortable conveyance than the stage and, with several changes of team, would accomplish the journey in a fraction of the time. Aurelia set one foot on the footstep preparatory to climbing into
the vehicle, then turned back to Greville, who stood holding the door for her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Look for me before noon.” He took her hand and kissed it, his fingers tightening for an instant before he released it.

“I will.” She climbed into the carriage and he closed the door. Greville gave the coachman the order to start. The man cracked his whip and the chaise lurched forward out of the innyard.

Aurelia sat back in the swaying gloom of the chaise, absently caressing her hand where she could still feel the impress of his fingers as they had closed over it.

They reached Cavendish Square at six that evening. Aurelia climbed down rather stiffly, glad that she’d resisted the urge to tell the coachman to take her first to Mount Street. She could barely wait to see Franny, but a half hour of preparation before she faced Cornelia was necessary. The last five days had changed her, and she had to find a way to hide those changes from her friend’s perceptive eyes.

She also had to introduce Greville Falconer into the conversation naturally, while at the same time conveying the impression that their encounter in Bristol had somehow become more than a mere chance meeting.

In fact, she thought as she put her key in the lock of the front door, her covert life of deception was about
to begin. She just wished it would begin with someone other than her best friend. But if she could fool Cornelia, she could fool anyone.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the deserted hall. Only one lamp was lit, in a sconce by the staircase, and the house was as quiet as the grave. “Morecombe,” she called, dropping her cloakbag on the parquet floor. “Morecombe…anyone there?”

A door at the rear of the hall opened, sending a welcome shaft of light across the floor. “Eh…what’s goin’ on then? Oh, ’tis you, is it. Back wi’out a word o’ warnin’.” Morecombe shuffled in his carpet slippers into the dim light. He wiped his hands on his baize apron and peered at Aurelia. “Couldn’t manage to send notice then?”

“No,” Aurelia agreed with a conciliatory smile. “I couldn’t. I’m sorry if my return discommodes you, Morecombe, but would you send Jemmy to light the lamps in the parlor and my bedchamber, and a few more in here and on the stairs wouldn’t come amiss. And I’d like Hester to bring hot water up to my chamber as soon as possible.”

“Oh, aye,” Morecombe muttered. “We’re ’avin’ a bite o’ supper right now.” He turned back to the kitchen. “I’ll send Jemmy.”

Aurelia shook her head. Nothing else had changed even if she had. She went into the parlor and stood shivering in the doorway. No one had lit a fire in here while she’d been away. Reasonable, of course, but if the prince
and princess had temporarily been absent, their majordomo would have kept the fires and lamps lit throughout the house in readiness for their return at whatever hour of the day or night. But Boris, of course, was with his master and mistress in the New Forest.

“I’ve a scuttle of ’ot coals ’ere, m’lady.” Jemmy came running across the hall carrying a brass coal scuttle. “I’ll ’ave a fire lit in a trice, ma’am.” He hurried to the cold grate and worked swiftly. Within a few minutes a blaze was beginning to take hold. He lit a taper and put it to the candles on the mantelpiece before drawing the curtains. “Nice to ’ave you back, ma’am. Hester’s gone upstairs to your bedchamber.”

“Excellent, thank you, Jemmy. You go back to your supper.” Aurelia went to the sideboard to pour herself a glass of sherry, which she took upstairs with her.

Hester had drawn the curtains in her bedchamber and was fiddling with the fire. She looked up as Aurelia entered. “Oh, ma’am, we wasn’t expectin’ you.”

“No, how should you have been?” Aurelia said with a smile. “I didn’t send word, after all.” She discarded her pelisse, noticing how grubby it seemed after five days of fairly solid wear in rather more rigorous circumstances than usual. She unpinned her hat and grimaced at her reflection in the dresser mirror. Her hair had no curl at all.

There wasn’t time for Hester to curl it before Aurelia went to Mount Street, if she was to get there before Franny was put to bed. She glanced at the clock. It was
gone six thirty already. Reluctantly, she realized that Franny would have to wait until the morning. Cornelia and Harry could be getting ready to go out, or preparing to receive guests. Aurelia looked a fright and she had no time to repair the damage. She wasn’t prepared, physically or mentally, to jump back into the world. A quiet evening, a good night’s sleep, and she would be knocking on the Mount Street door in time to have breakfast with her daughter.

Discretion, always the better part of valor, she reflected, asking Hester to bring up a bath for her. “I’ll take a light supper in the parlor when I’ve bathed. Could you ask Miss Ada to poach an egg for me, or something that’s not too much trouble for her.”