A Daring Liaison(72)

The high-backed tub stood on four sturdy legs and was longer and wider than any Georgiana had ever seen. But this one wouldn’t have to be carried up the stairs and filled from the kitchen below. Clean towels were draped over the side, ready at a moment’s notice. She trailed her fingers along the smooth side, longing for a bath even though she’d bathed only a few hours ago. A washstand with a large mirror above stood along one wall and she noted a shaving mug and razor on the surface by the washbowl.

The familiar scent of Charles’s soap evoked the memory of his kisses, and the mug and razor were a very personal reminder that now she would have no secrets from him. They would share all the most intimate details of their lives. She swallowed to clear the constriction that tightened her throat. She turned away and went back to her bedroom to find that Clara had draped her best nightgown across the bed. Heavens! Her wedding night.

Clara giggled. “You blush like a schoolgirl again, madam. A certain kind of man can take you that way, I hear. And don’t you worry. I warrant our Mr. Hunter will last.”

Last? Longer than her previous husbands? A cold so deep it chilled her clear through settled in her stomach. Had she condemned Charles to an early grave? Had she married him because doing so was easier than telling him the truth of her birth? Because she could not even tell him who her father was? Because she had been frightened by Mr. Foxworthy? Because she felt so safe in his arms? As if no one could hurt her now?

Desperate to be alone, she gave her maid the bouquet she still carried. “Find a vase for these, will you, Clara?”

“Aye, madam. Then I’ll come back and make you ready to receive your husband.” Another giggle and her maid was gone.

She went to a bureau and opened the drawers one at a time to find her belongings, arranged just as they’d always been at her town house and at the estate in Kent. The simple sameness gave her comfort that not everything had changed.

A corner of the little trunk holding her mother’s journals peeked from under the foot of her bed. She knelt and opened the lid. The journal she’d been reading when Mr. Foxworthy arrived lay atop the others and she took it, along with another, to her bedside table and put them in the small drawer. Sooner or later, she’d find something she could share with Lord Carlington.

She gazed down at the wedding ring on her finger. The golden circle embedded with emeralds and twinkling diamonds in a pattern of a never-ending vine suited her more than her others. Gower Huffington’s ostentatious inky sapphire and Allenby’s plain golden band rested at the bottom of her jewelry box and would remain there forever. This was the one she would wear until the day she died. She slipped it off and looked at the inside surface to see if he’d had it engraved. Always and Only You, it said in a faint script.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Always and only her—until he learned the truth of her parentage. Until he faced the reality of his ill-advised marriage.

Until he was killed?





Chapter Sixteen




Charles went to the library sideboard and glanced over his shoulder. “Brandy?” A quick drink and he’d send them on their way. He was rather anxious to join Georgiana upstairs.

Richardson closed the library door and turned the lock. “Whiskey, if you have it. I need something strong.”

“You, Wycliffe?”

“Make mine a whiskey, too.”

Charles turned up three glasses and poured. “I gather you are fresh back from Cornwall and have come to tell me what you’ve learned, but it could have waited until tomorrow.”

“Crosley said you were getting married,” Richardson said as he took his glass and went to look out the front window. “Say it isn’t so, Hunter. Who will I carouse with?”

“Sorry. ’Tis done. Mrs. Huffington is now Mrs. Hunter.”

Richardson looked back at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You’re a walking target, Hunter.”

“I’ve been a walking target since Gibbons decided he wanted me dead. Mrs. Huffington has nothing to do with that.”

Wycliffe took his glass and sat in a chair in front of the fireplace. He stretched his legs toward the fire and sighed. “We will get to Gibbons next. But let Harry give his report so he can get some much deserved sleep.”

“Aye. I’m looking for my bed. Something that does not move when I close my eyes.”

Charles gave Richardson a long look. The man did look exhausted. He steered them back to the subject at hand. “Did you learn anything new?”