Clandestine (27 page)

G
UY
made his excuses and went to bed alone. He lay awake for a long time staring at the canopy by the light of a single candle.

Whatever they discussed or agreed, whatever he admitted or promised, he still craved Sarah with an intense, bright passion—still yearned to risk the painful madness of her company—almost as if he were falling in love.

Yet Guy Devoran could make promises to no one, least of all to himself.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to purge his mind of the memories and the desire, so that he might concentrate instead on their quest.

He was almost certain that Rachel's disappearance had nothing to do with either orchids or smuggling. No, something quite different was going on, something that had called her away so precipitately from Hampstead, yet lay even farther in the maze of her past.

And now he had another vital clue to that puzzle.

Jack's latest letter—just delivered to Buckleigh and written by a man with a brain like quicksilver and the genius of a born conspirator—still lay on his desk. On the surface it was merely a summary of family news, but the real message lay hidden in a code they had invented as boys.

Guy sprang naked from the bed, memorized the information again, then held the paper to the candle flame and watched it blacken into ash.

W
YLDSHAY
was even more fascinating than Sarah had imagined. A fantasy of medieval towers, pierced with astonishing gardens and sudden, unexpected courtyards. The castle walls soared from the spreading waters of the River Wyld, forming an island fortress.

She lay back on an ivory velvet chaise longue in an elegant morning room in the Whitchurch Wing, feeling truly relaxed for the first time in days—no, weeks! Her silk robe, a gift from Lady Ryderbourne, whispered softly over limbs languid from a long, hot bath.

Though a strong sun beat down into the little enclosed courtyard beyond the open French doors, both women were sipping tea in relaxed dishabille, their hair loose about their shoulders.

“This room is so lovely,” Sarah said, glancing up at the open half-moon clerestory windows. “One feels so completely safe here.”

Miracle smiled. “Then you've noticed that I've banished the dragons from this wing, though our armored hero defeats his monster almost everywhere else at Wyldshay. One would think the St. Georges were so unsure of their identity that they have to be reminded of it constantly, or they'd forget who they are.”

Sarah laughed aloud. “I cannot imagine either Lord Ryderbourne or Lord Jonathan forgetting who they are for a moment—and certainly not the duchess!”

Her eyes danced with merriment as Miracle set down her cup. “I'm so glad you came to me, Sarah! I liked you right away when we first met in London, and now I know I was right. It's lovely to be able to talk with another woman without any social pressure. Alas, I'll always be a lady of questionable repute.”

“Whereas my reputation is in the hands of Lady Whitely,” Sarah said dryly, “so I'll be lucky to be allowed into society ever again, let alone to teach at a superior school.”

“Nonsense! Her Grace could crush Lottie Whitely with a glance if she breathed a word against you. But let me tell you a tale. You've never been told my true history before, have you?”

“No,” Sarah said. “Though everyone's heard of the St. Georges, of course.”

Miracle walked to the open doors and glanced up at the white roses climbing over a tall trellis. In the courtyard beyond, a stone swan spilled water into the basin of a fountain.

“Then you should know that before I met Ryder I lived as a professional courtesan, earning my living by selling my favors. I had done so since I was sixteen. Have I shocked you?”

“I'd no idea,” Sarah said faintly.

“I thought not, but while you're with me, you may relax about any minor transgressions of propriety. I'm still not received everywhere and never will be, in spite of the duchess's best efforts.”

“It makes no difference to me, but—”

“But society isn't always so forgiving. Ryder is the beginning and end of the meaning of my life, as I am of his. Yet Anne is my only real female ally—other than Liza, the eldest of Ryder's sisters, who's not even out yet—so a new woman friend is very precious.” Bright sunshine died to whispers in her dark hair as Miracle glanced over her shoulder. “Before I met Ryder I'd known times of great loneliness.”

Sarah's heart seemed to be opening like a sunflower, as if the other woman offered her the key to some bright truth.

“And I've had no one but my cousin, Rachel,” she said. “Though once I discovered how she'd been lying to me, I felt as if I were lost in a maze. I think I was lonely, too, more than I realized, so I'm stunned with gratitude for your generosity. When I turned up here like a waif, I was afraid that the duchess would send me away with a flea in my ear.”

“Her Grace is a remarkable lady,” Miracle said. “She has an eagle eye for what counts and is rarely distracted by appearances. She likes you.”

Sarah leaned back to gaze up at the painted ceiling. “Then I wish I could say that the appreciation was mutual, but I'm afraid that she leaves me quaking in my boots.”

“By design, just to make sure that no one can mistake the power of Wyldshay.”

Miracle strolled outside, a dark-haired woman of exquisite loveliness, framed by roses. At the back of the courtyard a wall of stone, streaked here and there with dark stains, framed an arched gateway—a remnant of far more dangerous times—that led to yet more gardens.

She touched the black streaks, before turning back to smile at Sarah.

“This gate's been here since the last visit of Eleanor of Aquitaine. It's named for her. When the Whitchurch Tower almost burned to the ground last year, we had to considering demolishing it. Yet in spite of the dragons, I didn't want to entirely dismiss the stern purpose that drove Ambrose de Verrant to build his keep on this spot.” She plucked a rosebud and walked back into the room. Her eyes held only a quiet wisdom and compassion. “Wyldshay is a sanctuary, Sarah, as well as a home.”

Miracle held out the flower. The petals, faintly scented with spice, were folded tightly over the secret heart.

“As I, too, came here for refuge?” Sarah said.

“And some practical help, which I'm delighted to offer. Anne's baby is bound to arrive within a few days. Then I'll take you down to Withycombe myself. Since Guy is proving so obdurate, we'll beat the truth out of Jack.”

Sarah set the rose into a jug on the table, balancing it so just the end of the stem dipped into the water.

“Then you think Lord Jonathan really must have discovered something momentous?”

“Of course! If he and Guy are conspiring together, formidable forces are working on your behalf.”

“Forces that would just as soon leave me out of it.”

“So typical of men!” Miracle walked back outside to gaze up at some swallows, wheeling high above the rooftops. “You've not exactly said so, Sarah, but you believe that Guy betrayed you in some way?”

Heat flooded over her face. Yet if she was opening her heart to the truth, she owed Miracle a sincere answer.

“No, not really.”

“Then I must ask this,” Miracle said. “For Guy's sake, as well as yours. Are you in love with him?”

The hot blood burned, scalding up her neck. “I think so—but I don't really know.”

“I saw something new in his eyes when he'd just met you in London, you see, almost as if he'd glimpsed the halls of Valhalla. He and I have been close friends for many years.” Miracle's white robe fluttered as she strolled around the courtyard, but her voice remained quiet and steady. “A long time ago we were lovers, as well. Did he tell you that?”

Sarah stared hard at the rose. “No, though I'd wondered.”

“He was eighteen. I was sixteen. He was my second. I was his first. When my first protector died, I came to London to make my fortune on the stage. Not possible, of course, unless one also sells one's favors, but I was lucky and I met Guy. We fell very desperately in love. We were children. It couldn't last. Neither of us regrets that, especially now that I've found real love with Ryder. Yet Guy's very dear to me, Sarah.”

“You describe a world I don't know,” Sarah said. “Which only confirms how absurd it would be for me to fall in love with him, doesn't it?”

“Perhaps. Obviously Guy has a great deal of natural power and an unassailable position in society. Yet he's not a man who ever uses women lightly. I don't believe he's ever entered a relationship without love playing some part.”

The rose slipped to sink to the bottom of the jug. Water enveloped the petals, trapping tiny air bubbles.

“Do you believe in love at first sight, Sarah?” Miracle asked. “Or that we're each predestined for only one man?”

“I know I loved John, my husband,” Sarah said. “Though I only really discovered it when I nursed him in his final illness.”

“And did you also share passion?”

“I don't know what that really means.”

Yet she did. She did. Though she was certain only that she was afraid and unsure of where those feelings might take her.

Miracle walked slowly around the courtyard. “I believe that love can take many forms, and that we can find it many times and in many ways. I loved Guy once with all the passion of a young girl finding her first really beautiful lover. I still love him now in a quite different way. I loved a couple of my other protectors, too, and each time it was unique, just as each of these flowers—though all roses—is quite unique.”

“Lord Ryderbourne isn't jealous?”

“No, because my passion for him is absolute and complete, and he knows it. My having loved before—or his having loved before—doesn't diminish what we share. If anything, it enhances it.” Miracle stopped by the gate to pluck another rose. She stared into its open heart for a moment. “What would this trellis be with only one flower?”

“Yet Guy told me he wasn't free,” Sarah said. “He sent me away from Buckleigh almost as if he never wanted to see me again.”

“I don't know how he couldn't be free, though I think perhaps he was hurt quite badly last spring. He and I have always shared most of our secrets, except then. All I know is that he kept a mistress who abandoned him. I've no idea why and I never met her, but I was afraid that she may have broken his heart.”

“And so you think, if I let myself love him, he'll break mine?”

“Not deliberately,” Miracle replied. “Not willingly. But love is always a risk. It can never be found without hazard.”

Boots rapped hard on the path leading up to the Eleanor Gate.

Her dark hair flowed as Miracle spun about. Her face lit as if she hoped to see her husband. Seconds later, the naked passion in her eyes softened into a much simpler pleasure as a tall gentleman walked into the courtyard, his jacket slung over one shoulder.

His hair dark, his eyes brilliant, Guy Devoran stood framed in white roses and harsh stone.

He flung aside the jacket and held out both arms. “It's a girl!”

Miracle ran straight into his embrace. Guy picked her up by the waist and swung her in a half-circle, before kissing her quickly on the mouth.

She hugged him, then stepped back to study his eyes. “And Anne is well? Thank God!”

Guy touched her cheek. “Yes, both mother and baby are glowing with health, and Jack's ready to fly to the moon. Withycombe is desperate to show off the prettiest baby ever seen—except for Ambrose, of course! The duchess left two minutes ago, and Ryder will drive you down as soon as you can get dressed. He's seeing to your carriage as we speak.” He grabbed Miracle's hand and towed her toward the French doors. “Come, get your clothes on! Jack will slaughter me if he thinks I caused any delay in your arrival, and your husband will be storming, booted and spurred, into your dressing room to fetch you at any minute.”

He hauled her into the room and stopped dead.

Sarah stood awkwardly beside the chaise longue, flaming as if she were being martyred. It seemed absurd to curtsy, but she curtsied.

The color drained from his skin as if whitewash had been dashed into his face. He dropped Miracle's hand.

“Ah,” Miracle said, glancing from Guy to Sarah. “Yes. Mrs. Callaway came to me in her hour of need, as she and I had arranged in London. Did you think that I, too, would abandon her?”

His eyes blazed in his white face. “Never!”

“Then you and she probably have some things to discuss.”

In a rustle of silk, Miracle St. George, the future Duchess of Blackdown, left the room.

Sarah looked as if she were confronting a ghost. As she rose from her curtsy, her bright color receded like the tide, leaving her as pale as death.

She was dressed in some kind of silvery wrapper. The drapes caressed the warm curves of her breasts and whispered over her hips and legs. Her hair streamed in a glorious mass, crimped into deep waves where it had been released from its plaits, a dance of flames and copper, sunshine and autumn.