Playing with Fire Page 13

  She returned the smile. “He was always full of praise for you too, sir. He especially agreed with your theories about hieroglyphs.”

  “Hmm, then he must have been the only soul in creation who did,” Sir Julian muttered.

  “Not quite, sir, for I also agreed with them.”

  “Did you indeed?” She had his undivided attention. “Are you interested in Ancient Egypt, Mrs. Entwhistle?”

  Amanda sobbed dramatically on her rock, but was ignored by everyone.

  Hermione continued. “I am greatly interested in the land of the pharaohs, Sir Julian, and therefore trust that when you examine the antiquities we have brought with us, you will not exclude ladies from the proceedings?”

  Sir Julian’s eyes lit up. “Antiquities?”

  “We purloined them from the French. At least, Lieutenant Ballard did. The first of them have already been put ashore.” She indicated the launch, from which the crates were being lifted by the seamen.

  Sir Julian was enthralled. “So that’s what the crates contain! I thought it was all your baggage,” he breathed. “Antiquities, eh? By the saints, fog or not, this is set to be a grand day! Of course ladies will not be excluded, madam. I would not dream of such an ungallant thing!”

  Tansy waited by the launch as the stretcher was lifted ashore. “How are you, Lieutenant?”

  “Well enough under the circumstances,” Martin replied.

  For a moment she thought there was something in his eyes, a transient warmth that touched her like a caress. No, she was foolish to imagine such a thing. “It will not be long before you are in a proper bed, with a proper doctor to examine you,” she said, trying to show just sufficient concern to be correct.

  “I think I am already on the path to recovery,” he murmured, indicating the figurine, which he still held firmly. “Your bronze cat has a very beneficial effect. Quite magical….”

  Hermione and Sir Julian came over to them, and Hermione drew Tansy away so that Sir Julian could bend over the stretcher. “Lieutenant Ballard?”

  “Sir.”

  “Sir Julian Richardson, your grateful servant, sir. How are you?”

  “Overdue for a proper recovery.”

  Sir Julian nodded. “Well, sir, you shall have the very best care possible here at Chelworth, for I am in your debt. I gather you single-handedly saved my nieces from certain death?”

  “Not single-handedly, sir.”

  “Whatever the circumstances, I am grateful to you. Chelworth is at your disposal for as long as necessary, and we will get you to the house without further shillyshally.” Sir Julian straightened and went to Mr. Pettigrew. “Please instruct your men to convey the lieutenant up to the house without further ado.”

  “Sir Julian.”

  Within a minute the stretcher had been lifted again, but as everyone began to follow Sir Julian from the beach, Amanda got to her feet in dismay. “You mean we have to walk up that hill?”

  “Yes, I fear so, my dear,” Sir Julian replied.

  “Oh, but I cannot possibly do that! I’m too weak from all my trials. There will have to be a pony and trap at the very least.”

  “ ‘Shank’s mare is all that can be provided, unless of course, you think Lieutenant Ballard should surrender his stretcher to you?”

  Amanda flushed and said nothing more. His tone was an indication that she had done herself no favors since stepping ashore. Tansy, on the other hand, appeared to shine in his eyes. As, for some reason, did the odious Mrs. Entwhistle, with whom dear Tansy was now wont to speak on first-name terms. And they had all—including Martin—ignored her, Amanda, as she sat sobbing and distressed on the rock. Well they would pay for inflicting such a snub on the soon-to-be Countess of Sanderby. She would show them!

  Chapter 20

  The fog did not last beyond midday, at which hour the March sunshine broke through and dispersed the gloom to leave a beautiful early spring afternoon. A lone horseman rode along the summit of the hill behind Chelworth and reined in beside the pyramid, around which the sea breeze sang quite pleasantly.

  Randal would have much preferred the comfort of a carriage, but today had seen Liza driving off in style to Weymouth, to purchase a folderol to replace the so-called chattie scarf by which she set such ridiculous store. He had tried to wriggle out of his obligation, but she had moaned on and on about the damned thing until he could not bear it a moment longer. However, he drew the line at actually accompanying her. Be seen in fashionable Weymouth with a common whore on his arm? She was mad if she expected that! So he had given her a purse and told her to get on with it on her own.

  Taking out his pocket telescope, he trained it upon the bay, where the Lucina was just setting sail. There was only one reason he could think of why a naval frigate would anchor at Chelworth, and that was to put something or someone ashore. Randal smiled as he closed the telescope again and replaced it inside his coat. If he was not mistaken, his bride had arrived, and the sooner he sought a private word with her, the better. It was as much in her interest to find the letter as it was in his.

  He did not doubt that Amanda would be his willing accomplice, for he had more than gained her measure from the things she’d written. The lady was the sort who would stoop to anything, and in that respect at least she was a woman after his heart. Not that any woman was truly after his heart; there wasn’t another living creature worthy of such a place in his estimation.

  Randal’s pale eyes were thoughtful. He had an uneasy feeling about all this, the sort of feeling that required every loose end to be taken care of pronto, as the Spanish said. First the disposal of the letter, then—as quickly as could be managed—the marriage. He had taken the precaution of securing the promised services of a crooked clergyman at the nearby market town of Wareham, who would not ask awkward questions about the haste and irregularity of the ceremony. He also had the absolute promise of the necessary special license, backdated with all the necessary details, there being an unfortunate fellow in the relevant church office with so much to hide that he did not dare refuse.

  So before old Richardson could even blink, his niece was going to be deflowered in her marriage bed, and her considerable fortune made safe in her new husband’s grasp. Then, even if the worst came to the worst, and he lost his title and fortune, at least her inheritance would be secured. A nerve fluttered at Randal’s temple, and his lips grew pale as he pressed them together. But that would be at the very worst, for if he had his way, everything would be his.

  He looked down at the rear of the house, where gardens and outbuildings were as formal and tidy as the land at the front was wild and bare. Daffodils nodded in flowerbeds, topiary bushes—sphinxes, of course—were precise and regimented, and there were paths, steps, ornamental pools, dovecotes, and a summerhouse that was modeled on the roofed and columned court of a small Nile palace. Randal supposed that the entire place was either beautiful, or breathtakingly hideous, depending upon one’s point of view. He leaned toward the latter, having encountered nothing but difficulty to everything he had tried to accomplish there. All he was doing was defending what he regarded as rightfully his, and the likes of Sir Julian Richardson had no business standing in his way.

  He closed the telescope and prepared to ride away again, but as he turned the horse he suddenly found himself looking at something he hadn’t noticed before—the entrance to the pyramid. It was set below ground level and was reached down a flight of stone steps that were covered with dead leaves and other debris from the heath, across which the winter winds often howled with a vengeance. No one could have been inside since at least the previous autumn.

  Curiosity got the better of him, and he dismounted to descend the steps and test the door. To his surprise it wasn’t locked, so he was able to push it open. The hinges groaned and complained as they swung back to let the sunlight fall upon a low-ceilinged room that was completely empty. It wasn’t unadorned, however, for the wall opposite was painted with a beautiful Nile hunting scene, complete with w
aterfowl, fish, and lush stands of stylized reeds and willows. There was also a boat upon which stood a young king with two egrets in his hand. The other hand was extended to take a papyrus from the mouth of a…a cat?

  Randal looked contemptuously at the painting. What a ridiculous premise! No one in their right minds hunted with cats. For one thing, the damned things were impossible to train…. As he looked at the tabby that had been so meticulously painted, it seemed to him that it was meeting his gaze. There was a crafty look in its green eyes, a willful, designing gleam that made him suddenly want to shiver. Then he was sure he heard it spitting at him! A cold finger ran down his spine, and he withdrew swiftly, pulling the door closed behind him. He almost ran up the steps to his horse, but once in the sunshine he felt foolish for having been so impressionable.

  He paused with a hand on the saddle, his head bowed to compose himself; then he remounted and glanced back at Chelworth again. A solitary figure was hurrying across the garden toward a postern in a corner of the high ivy-covered surrounding wall. Recognizing James, the footman he’d hired with the now-dismissed Joseph, Randal set his horse down the steep, awkward slope toward him, wincing with every jolting, lurching yard of the descent.

  James waited nervously outside the postern, where the wild heath began again and there wasn’t another soul to be seen. Nevertheless he glanced around, only too aware of taking a considerable risk by slipping out in daylight like this. He didn’t want to suffer the same fate as Joseph, but neither did he want to forgo the fine purse promised by Lord Sanderby. “My lord?” he said as Randal reached him at last. “I saw you up by the pyramid. I…I was just about to send a boy to Bothenbury with a message.”

  “To tell me Miss Richardson has arrived?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where is she now?” Randal inquired, gazing through the slightly open gate toward the house.

  “All the ladies are taking tea with Sir Julian in the drawing room.”

  “All the ladies?”

  “Sir Julian’s nieces are accompanied by a chaperone,” James explained. “And they brought an injured naval officer with them, so are awaiting Dr. Chivenor from Weymouth.”

  “I see.” Randal searched in his pocket and took out a piece of paper and a pencil. He scribbled a few words on it and handed it to James, whom he already knew could not read. “Give this to Miss Amanda as quickly as possible. And don’t be obvious about it. Just slip it to her secretly. She will come to you, and I want you to bring her here. I will wait.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  James hurried away, closing the postern carefully behind him, and Randal slowly dismounted. He stretched and rubbed his sore back, but in spite of his discomfort, there was a faint smile of anticipation on his lips. Soon he would find out if his assessment of his bride was accurate or not. Not that he doubted it. He took a deep breath of the pleasing spring air, then flicked his riding crop against the back of his boots. He would make sure of her at this first meeting. Charm and gentleness would mark his conduct now, with no awkward facts that might frighten her off. Selected tidbits would be divulged at their second meeting, which he fully intended would be tonight.

  * * * *

  Amanda was seated a little apart from the others in the huge green-and-gold drawing room, which had a ceiling so high that she wondered if any light reached it at all. The room was like a necropolis, or some such place, she decided, glancing around at the lines of animal statues that stood guard along the walls like weird zoological exhibits. She particularly disliked the hippopotamus, which reared on its hind legs in a most unlikely way, and was so fat that it reminded her of a satirical cartoon of the Prince of Wales.

  She hated everything about this house, she decided, still seething about the treatment she had received on the beach. Even now the others were all talking together, sipping tea and exchanging anecdotes about the voyage while they waited for Dr. Chivenor to hie himself from Weymouth to examine Martin. Amanda Richardson might as well not exist, for all the attention she had received! How dared they, oh, how dared they! She was more important than any of them, as they would all be reminded by the time she was done!

  She glowered at them as they sat near the fire, the coals of which glowed palely in the full stream of sunlight from the nearby window. The sunlight also flooded over a faience figure of a demon that stood on a small table. Amanda was beginning to feel as if it were staring at her, fixing her with its evil glittering eyes. She tried not to think of it as she watched the three people she now regarded as her foes. Uncle Julian and Hermione Entwhistle were clearly birds of a feather, chattering about Ancient Egypt as if it were the only interesting topic in the world. Tansy was listening and adding a remark now and then, but she clearly did not understand half of what they were talking about.

  Most of the conversation centered upon the wretched antiquities, now stored in the stables. Of special interest was that stupid slab of black basalt, about which Uncle Julian seemed even more dizzy and nonsensical than the chaperone, if such a thing were possible. He had gone on and on about how sure he was that his studies of hieroglyphs were on the correct course, and that he had two pieces of papyrus that were somehow important. He seemed convinced that the basalt would provide a vital missing piece in the jigsaw. Or some such thing.

  Amanda sighed crossly, for she really didn’t care whether hieroglyphs were solved or remained a closed book forever more. Oh, it really was so boring here! If only fashionable Weymouth were just outside the door, instead of four miles or so away by road, at least there would be society worthy of her. She had tried to ask Uncle Julian about Lord Sanderby, but he had prevaricated. Yes, that was the word, prevaricated. Clearly he was still set against her becoming Lady Sanderby. He had muttered something about getting around to such things later, when everyone had settled in, and she rather gained the impression that her bridegroom was in London, so presumably it would be a positive age before she came face-to-face with him at last.

  The door opened and a footman entered. He looked a little out of breath, she thought, and was then surprised at the way in which his glance moved meaningfully toward her before he bowed to Sir Julian.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but would you like more tea?”

  “No, James, we have drunk our fill, I fancy.”

  “Sir.”

  James bowed again, then pretended to notice something amiss with the curtain by Amanda’s chair. He went to straighten the folds, and as he did so he dropped Randal’s note into her lap. Then he withdrew from the room again.

  Amanda was startled, and for a second or so she simply looked at the folded piece of paper as if it had no business soiling her lap with its presence, but then she glanced around at the others. No one had noticed anything, so she quickly read the note. My beloved, I await you outside. James will bring you to me. Come to my arms. R.

  She recognized the writing from Randal’s letters. Her breath caught, and her fingers closed excitedly over the paper. He was outside now? Not in London? Well, she didn’t give two figs what dear Uncle Julian thought about her or her magnificent match, for he certainly wasn’t going to keep her from the man she was to marry. If Lord Sanderby wanted her to go to his arms right now, then go she would! She got up. “Er, if you will all excuse me, I…I have a headache and need to lie down for a while.”

  “As you wish, my dear,” Sir Julian replied, trying to remain equable, for he found her a considerable trial. He was completely unaccustomed to tantrums and tears, and was of the opinion that portmanteaus and sea chests were not the only baggage to come from Constantinople!

  Hermione began to get up in concern, but Amanda gathered her skirts and left the room, trying hard not to break into a run. James was in the atrium that formed the heart of the house. He lurked by the potted ferns that had been arranged around the base of a huge statue of a pharaoh that stood in the center of the black-and-white-tiled floor. The statue’s head was on a level with the gallery landing that encircled the second floor above, and
looked as if it were keeping watch on what happened up there, where sunlight flooded through an array of skylights.

  James had brought Amanda’s cloak, and he hurriedly placed it around her shoulders before leading her past the staircase toward the billiard room, which had French doors to both the front and rear of the house. Unknown to them, Ozzy and Cleo emerged from the ferns around the statue to follow. Stealthy paws padded softly behind as James conducted Amanda past the daffodils and ornamental pools, past the summerhouse and the leafy sphinxes, to the postern tucked away in the furthest corner.

  “His lordship’s waiting out there, miss,” he said, then withdrew to a discreet distance. He heard the ivy rustling further along the garden wall and saw the two cats scrambling up to sit on the top. Tails swishing idly, they sat with their backs to him, gazing over the other side of the wall at Randal, who as yet knew nothing of their presence.

  Amanda’s hand shook as she opened the postern. Randal turned, a quick smile on his lips, admiration warming his eyes as he regarded her swiftly from head to toe, before fully meeting her cornflower eyes. “How beautiful you are,” he breathed, coming to take her hand and raise it to his lips.

  Her heart thundered. This illicit assignation was so very romantic! So utterly and wickedly what she had dreamed of that for once she could not think of anything to say. She, Amanda Richardson, was keeping a tryst with an earl! Randal read her like a book, and pulled her closer. “I have waited for this moment,” he whispered.

  “So have I. Oh, so have I!” she replied, finding her tongue at last.

  “I have ridden up there to the pyramid every day.”

  “You…. You are staying around here?”

  “Three miles away, at a house called Bothenbury. I could not stay in London, knowing that you would arrive here.”