Trial by Desire (17 page)

“Harcroft, this isn’t the time to speculate on—”

“No.” Harcroft stood and dry-washed his hands. “A gentleman doesn’t speculate on a lady’s proclivities. A duke’s daughter is not some…some laundry maid, to be exposed to the world’s censure.” His lip pulled back bitterly. “But Ned—do spare a moment, while looking for my wife, to keep your guard up around yours.”

“I’m not worried about Kate. I trust her.”

“Well.” Harcroft strode to the door. “To each their own. I suppose I’ll be ready to leave in the morning. Lady Blakely?”

“If we’re off in the next few hours, we’ll arrive home tonight.” There was that look in Jenny’s eyes, though, the way she dropped them so quickly, that suggested she had something else in mind. She remained seated, watching Ned as Harcroft walked out. She said nothing, long after his footsteps echoed down the hall.

And this was the true test. Ned could fool Harcroft. He could bamboozle Gareth. But Jenny had spent the years before her marriage watching for reactions, looking for the tiny, betraying clues that would suggest hidden motivations. Even if his heart had been in the deception, Jenny would have been difficult to lie to.

“We’ve not talked about Kate much,” she finally said. “I know she and I have not been the best of friends. But are things well between you?”

“Well enough.”

“If that’s an answer, I’ll eat my hat.” She tossed her unclad head, and Ned found himself grinning.

“You’re not wearing one.”

Her mouth curved up in brief appreciation, but she was not to be misdirected by levity. “What a mess this has been. I just want to know that someone here has a chance of happiness in the next week, Ned. It might as well be you. It’s your turn, after all.” She turned a hand over in her lap and inspected her nails.

“Really?” Ned asked. “That’s all you wanted to say?”

“Of course. I care for your welfare. You know that.”

“What I meant was that you did not use to be so obvious when you were trying to persuade me to divulge my secrets.”

She glanced up sharply, then smiled. “You
have
grown up, I see. Very well. Are you going to tell me why you are trying to rid yourself of Harcroft and my husband?”

Ned considered this briefly. “No.”

She smiled. “Are you going to share any of your suspicions?” She spoke lightly, as if his suspicions were inconsequential fears that could be divulged in a sentence or two. If he told her everything, she would help him. She would insist on it—she and her husband both. And as much as Ned cared for them, he didn’t want their help. He didn’t want them meddling, interfering in his relationship with his wife.

And he still wanted to prove himself.

Besides, Jenny wanted to go home.

“Suspicions?” Ned parroted.

She cocked her head. Ned forced himself to remain calm under that examination. He took regular breaths, relaxed his shoulders.

“My suspicions,” Ned said, “are mine. And the instant I have information beyond what I possess in the moment, I’ll share with you. You can be sure of that.”

True; everything he knew now, every certain scrap of knowledge, was
his.
It would take some vast new piece of knowledge to get him to betray what he knew.

“You know,” Jenny said too casually, “before you arrived in this room, Harcroft said he suspected Kate was maligning him. That she might have precipitated his wife’s flight.”

Any answer—or no answer—would betray too much. Ned rubbed his chin, as if he could scrub off the weight of her attention. He couldn’t, though; she watched him,
as clear-eyed as before. Finally, he met her gaze head-on. “And does that arouse your suspicions as to Kate or Harcroft?”

“You also didn’t use to answer my little prompts with questions. I should have liked to ask you the same thing, as it turns out. And as it turns out…I don’t know. Neither. Both. Maybe. Harcroft is a moody fellow. I can’t quite put my finger on him.”

Saying Harcroft was moody seemed a bit like saying that an unexpected winter storm was a mild inconvenience.

“He’ll never admit it, as he’s one of
those
men, but this ordeal has left him completely overwrought. If he were a woman, everyone would say he was on the verge of hysterics. I don’t know what else to say, but I am sure that he loves Louisa. He wept when he told us she was missing. He
wept,
Ned. Imagine what that must mean to a man stuffed as full of pride as he. There have been times I could have happily slapped him—he constantly drops these unthinking little insults to his wife. But he
wept.
”

“And you?”

“I have not known Louisa—or her husband—well enough to weep. If this information from Chelsea comes to nothing…we must simply wait and hope that Louisa has not come to any harm.” She cocked her head and looked at him. “Or must we?”

Jenny had always been able to ferret out his secrets. But now…

Ned simply looked at her and shook his head. “Trust me.”

Jenny sighed. “Ned, I know you want to help. But this is too important for you to handle on your own.”

He felt a familiar clutch in his stomach. He might have been fourteen years old again, overhearing his grandfather disparage him. To have Jenny, of all people, do it…

“What?” His voice dropped. “Are you saying I can only be trusted with responsibility over
unimportant
matters?”

“That’s not it. It’s just that this is a very complicated situation. Repaying this debt we owe means a great deal to both Gareth and me. And—”

“Yes. That’s precisely what you’re saying. You can’t claim to trust me in words, and then not actually trust me. What you’re saying now is akin to, ‘Thank you, Ned, for blundering into a situation you can’t handle. Now step aside and let the adults take care of it.’”

Jenny put one hand to her forehead and exhaled.

“This may come as a surprise to you, Jenny, but I
am
an adult. I
do
understand how complex and dangerous this situation is. I could not have possibly missed the fact that you feel an obligation to Harcroft—and that I am the one responsible for the obligation in the first place. I am not telling you that I wish to make a training exercise of this matter. I am saying this situation is more delicate than you can possibly imagine, and if you keep poking about,
you
are the one who will blunder.” His hands were shaking.

Jenny’s eyes widened at that outburst and she leaned back, folding her arms over her chest.

“And when I say
trust me,
” Ned continued, “I do not mean that you should don a blindfold and repose your unthinking faith in a foolish youth. When in the last few years have I exaggerated? When have I made you a
promise and not kept it? When have I broken faith with you?”

“You haven’t.” Her voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry, Ned. I thought only to save you from the trouble and heartache of this affair. It’s only because I care for you.”

“You can take that sentiment and stuff it. This time, Jenny, I’m going to save you. And you are going to sit quietly and
let me do it.
” As he spoke, Ned leaned over the table, until he was glaring into her eyes.

Jenny lurched back.

He was already regretting the harshness of his tone. Jenny cared for him, as a sister for a brother—literally—but all that sisterly concern left him feeling uselessly swaddled about, covered in cotton wool. She’d already spent too much time caring for him.

Jenny’s eyes dropped from his in similar regret. “I suppose,” she said weakly, “I should like to see Rosa again. It has been more than a week, and we both miss her.”

Ned let out a breath.

“Very well, Ned. Save me.” She rolled her eyes as she said the words, as if to indicate precisely how much weight she put on them. “But if you muck this up because you were too proud to ask for help when you needed it, I shall smack you.”

A wave of relief washed over him. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t need to.” He gave her an assured smile. “Prepare to be saved.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I
HAVE SOMETHING
to tell you.”

Kate looked up from her contemplation of the tree-lined horizon through the sitting room window and turned to the doorway. Her hands clenched around the useless pillow she had been pretending to embroider. Ned stood there, nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe. He smiled at her, carefree.

So she was to be told about what had been decided in the meeting, after all. She hadn’t been sure whether she was glad to have been left out, or wounded that she was seen as so useless. She was not sure whether her husband’s presence intensified the feeling of isolation that had enveloped her or alleviated it. But that smile he gave her—that bright smile—seemed to cut through the depressing blue of her thoughts.

Silly impulse, that. Just looking at him tugged at her heart, made her remember how inadequate everything was between them. She looked away and out the window again. Just this morning, she’d traversed the path she saw in front of her, looking for her husband. Now, with the autumn sunset dipping toward the horizon, painting brown fields gold, she wanted no reminder of what she’d learned.

His care for her was a perfunctory thing, a matter of
duty. And no matter what else transpired she was alone. Now more than ever.

Behind her, he let out a small sigh. “Gareth and Jenny will be off in half an hour. Harcroft will be leaving for Chelsea in the morning.”

She turned around and looked at him in surprise. “How did that come about?”

Ned stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “I suggested it.”

“And how, precisely, did you go about suggesting it?” Kate felt her hands trembling. More important,
why?
And why had he come to her with such news? “Has someone found Louisa?”

“No, Kate.” His voice sounded patient. “Actually, I promised I would search for her here myself. I’m familiar with the area. I promised to send regular reports with my findings.”

Even worse. She’d have to avoid him assiduously, and mislead him. Lying to Harcroft seemed a kind of a civic virtue. To her husband, however, it was another matter.

“And will you?”

“I’ll look until she’s found.” His voice was mild. “But is there anything you wish to say to me on the matter?”

Nothing. She could say nothing.

He came to stand beside her. The red rays of the sunset painted his face in warm tones.

“If there is anything you wish to tell me in confidence, you have my word it would go no further.”

His word? She wanted to trust him. She did. But…

“That would be the same word you gave me at our wedding ceremony?” She spoke primarily to remind herself.
Because she was a fool to even consider speaking to him. A true fool to want to believe she could trust him. She heard his intake of breath. “You’re furious now, because I’m questioning you.”

“Furious?” His voice sounded amused. “Not particularly.” He touched the back of the sofa near her shoulder, his hand falling so close to her she could have kissed it. She looked up into his eyes and found nothing there but trusting brown. No anger. No fury. “I don’t think I really understood how much I hurt you until we spoke this afternoon.”

Kate couldn’t bear to look in his eyes any longer. His words were too close to her dreams, too close to her own wants. She was like to put an unfortunate complexion on them, and she had nobody but herself to hurt. She’d learned, all too well, that her marriage was a
practical
thing, something to suffer through and survive. Anger she could manage. But kindness led to hope, and hope would break her down.

“Is that what you see when you look at me, then? You see a frightened, wounded creature, one to whom you must speak softly?”

He didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he walked round the sofa and looked at her straight on. And now that he was in front of her, she could not look away. If she bowed her head, he would understand that she
was
afraid. That even now he could shatter her. And so she looked back. He reached down and took her arm and gently pulled her to her feet. He did not relinquish her hand, though, when she stood.

He was far taller than she, and as close as he stood, she suddenly felt small. She should
never
have even mentioned her fear. She could see the knowledge reflected in his eyes. She could feel it in the strong grasp of his fingers about her wrist. And now that she’d let slip that unfortunate truth, what else would she admit? That standing this close to him, she could smell the strong, masculine scent of his soap? That some unfortunate part of her longed to lean against him, to open herself once again to the heated touch of his hands on her bare skin?

Perhaps she would say that the primary thing that held her back was the fear that once again, he would be the one to walk away.

She pulled her hand in his grasp. But his hand was as steadfast and gentle as a velvet manacle.

“You must see me as the most pitiful, ineffectual, cringing little
rabbit.
” She pulled again.

In response, he set his hand on her shoulder and turned her to the right. “Look straight ahead,” he suggested. “I think I may be seeing you for the first time.”

Kate looked across the room. The fire burned low. The cavernous maw of the fireplace was framed by a simple mantel. Above that hung a looking glass.

She could see their reflections in that expanse of silvered glass—Ned, tall and strong, vitality wafting off him. In the mirror it seemed as if he were barely touching her—his hand on her wrist, his arm lightly overlaying her shoulder. Two simple points of contact. The mirror could not show how his touch seared her skin.

She shuddered. Looking at the two of them framed in
the mirror seemed even more intimate than their wedding night had been. She could feel the warmth of his body behind her. She could imagine him taking one step in, enfolding her in those strong arms of his. She could feel the warmth of his breath against the back of her neck. And yet there was nothing anonymous about his touch, because she could not escape his eyes in the looking glass.