My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) (14 page)

“That settles it, then,” Canning agreed. “Thank you, Dennington. This will not go unnoticed.”

“And there will be adequate protection at the inn,” Olmstead assured him.

“We need to act on this immediately, gentlemen.” Canning turned to Olmstead. “Captain, can we have the necessary men in place in, say, three days’ time?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Trenville? You can handle your end by then?” Canning asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Adrian left the meeting with mixed feelings. At last they seemed on the verge of catching the enemy agent who had proved so elusive. But what if Elinor were involved? How could he protect her?

Well, he could not be the one at the inn, but he could certainly be on the scene later. If necessary, he would simply whisk her away.

Elinor could not shake the feeling that she was being watched whenever she stepped outside the confines of Trenville’s town house. She told herself she was being silly. The fact that she often observed two or three men on the street with seemingly little to do was irrelevant. They were undoubtedly neighborhood servants trying to avoid or postpone unpleasant tasks.

She had listened patiently the morning after her visit to Miss Palmer as Trenville gently, but firmly dressed her down for going off alone. He explained that his government position dealt with sensitive issues and materials as she well knew and that members of his household might thus become targets for unscrupulous persons. That was, of course, why both a maid and a groom always accompanied her and the children to the park. The same precautions were to be in effect when she went out without the children. She had apologized and that had been the end of it. Still, there was this nagging feeling that the situation was not as innocuous as his lordship would have her believe.

London drawing rooms buzzed with news of Napoleon’s escape from Elba and his triumphal march to Paris. Fashionable matrons, society misses, and gentlemen of the
ton
who called on the marchioness talked of little else. The women whispered fearful tales of atrocities and the “monster’s” brutalities, savoring the most outlandish details. The men blustered about how the British army under Wellington would make short work of dealing with the Corsican upstart. After all, it had been done once....

Listening to this venting of fears and bravado, Elinor was struck by the artificiality of it all. The real danger lay across the English Channel. These women were safe enough and, as far as she could see, delighted in their shock and fear. It was better than a scary gothic novel. As for the men—they mostly brought a suppressed little snort of disgust. Elinor knew few of these darlings of the ton would shed their showy coats by Weston for an army uniform. Many of them did not even bother to keep abreast of matters before Parliament, let alone take their seats in that venerable body.

One afternoon, the children having been relegated to their own quarters, Elinor joined the adult members of Trenville’s household for tea in the formal drawing room. It was rather a large and motley gathering of folk, with little groups scattered here and there. Elinor was not pleased to find the fawning, socially ambitious Lady Vincent among the guests. However, she remembered the woman as a favorite of the marchioness, the two of them sharing their love of gossip.

Elinor accepted a cup of tea with a smile for the footman serving it and found herself a place on a window seat somewhat removed from the rest of the room. Soon Huntington came to stand near her. She gave him a warm greeting of welcome.

“Ah, Miss Palmer. Hiding yourself way from the rest of us, are you?” he asked teasingly. There was a speculative look in his eyes.

“Not really. Sometimes it is fun just to watch people.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.” His gaze followed hers to where Adrian seemed trapped by a bevy of females. “I see the tenacious Lady Gabrielle has joined her mother-in-law’s efforts to find Trenville a new wife.”

Elinor felt a piercing jolt of pain at this comment, but she managed to say lightly, “He does not appear to be suffering unduly.”

“But appearances can be deceiving, can they not ... my lady?”

Elinor was startled at the sort of pregnant little pause he used before the title. Her eyes connected with Huntington’s knowing look. “I—I suppose so,” she said slowly, looking away and attempting to keep her tea from sloshing into the saucer while she tried to think. What did Thomas Huntington know? And what danger did he pose?

“Come now, my dear,” he said edging her over to sit beside her. “You are no governess. Though why an earl’s sister would pretend to be one is beyond me.”

“An earl’s sister?” she repeated foolishly, trying to marshall her thoughts even as the conversations and laughter in the rest of the room sounded in her ears. She took a long drink of tea and calmly asked, “What
are
you talking about?”

“Doing it too brown, Elinor—I
may
still call you Elinor, may I not?”

“I—what do you mean? How—?” Dear God. This could not be happening. Not here. Not now. She looked around, seeking an escape. She saw clusters of people laughing, talking, flirting, gossiping. For an instant, they all seemed to be talking about her, looking at
her
. She closed her eyes and quickly opened them. No. They were all fully occupied with their own concerns. She carefully set her empty cup on a small table within reach.

“It’s all right. You mustn’t panic,” Huntington assured her with a friendly pat on her hand. “No one else knows—yet.”

Elinor felt cold and numb. Her shoulders slumped. “How did you ... ?”

“I was in the library this morning copying out some letters when a fellow came to ask whether Lady Elinor Richards was a guest here. Trenville was out, so I spoke with the man. When he said he represented the Earl of Ostwick and described her ladyship, it occurred to me that yes, indeed, we did know her.”

“Have you told Ad—Lord Trenville?”

“No.”

“Why not?” She was amazed that she could be so calmly curious as her careful disguise—indeed, her future—was disintegrating.

“Why? First off, I’ve not seen Trenville since early this morning—that is, until right now. And secondly, I was, frankly, wondering if you would be able to make it worth my while not to tell him.”

“Worth your while? ... Money? You want money?” She had not raised her voice, but there was a note of panic in it. “But that is—You? Thomas—
you
would blackmail me?”

“Such an ugly word, my dear.” He patted her hand again.

This could not be happening. She looked around the room once more, shocked at how ordinary it seemed. Her gaze locked with Adrian’s for a moment. She quickly looked away. Think. She had to think.

“What did you tell the man who came inquiring?” Her voice was controlled, despite the maelstrom of emotions swirling within.

“Nothing, yet. He gave me his direction, though. Seemed pretty sure you—that is, her ladyship—had been to this house. Offered a reward for information.”

“I—I see. And if I ‘make it worth your while’ you will not tell him I am here? And you will not reveal any of this to Lord Trenville?”

He nodded. “You have the right of it. Can we come to an agreement then?” He named a sum that caused her to blanch.

She heaved a long sigh. “I will need some time. Needless to say, in my present situation, I haven’t a sum like that readily available.”

“I shall give you time. After all, neither of us is going anywhere.” His laugh signified the warm friendliness they had shared before, but there was a hollow ring to it and his blue eyes were hard. “Say—three days?”

She gasped.

“All right, then—four. But no more.”

Elinor picked up her cup and casually made her way to the tea table, speaking and nodding to those who acknowledged her. She had to get out of this room. She had to
think
. She passed behind the settee on which Lady Vincent sat with Gabrielle, the two of them holding court, as it were. Elinor was stunned to hear her own name.

“No, my dear,” the woman was saying. “They’ve not found Lady Elinor Richards yet. But her uncle is a determined man. Arabella is certain he will succeed.”

Arabella again. Drat that woman. Elinor set her cup and saucer on a tray held by a footman and edged toward the door. She looked around the room and again caught Adrian’s eye. She had to get out of here before anyone commented on the sameness of the names of a missing heiress and a governess.

 

 

That evening Adrian sent word to the children’s rooms that he wished to speak with Miss Palmer. This afternoon, it had seemed to him that she was frightened or upset. He had to try one more time to break through the barrier she kept so firmly in place. The rendezvous with the spy was set for tomorrow night. Dressed to go out later to his club, Adrian waited for her in the library.

“You wanted to see me, my lord?”

She had apparently received his summons as she was preparing to retire. Her hair had been hastily piled atop her head and stray wisps sneaked out here and there. He thought removal of a pin or two would send the whole mass tumbling to her shoulders. His fingers itched to do just that.

“Yes, Miss Palmer—Elinor.” He indicated a wing chair near a small table with a lamp on it. In the soft light, her hair gleamed and her skin glowed. She nervously licked her lips and he thought how very kissable that mouth was. He took the matching chair. “I—I was wondering if you have had any second thoughts about our conversation the other day?”

“My leaving, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“No, my lord. I have written Lady MacGregor explaining the situation to her.”

“I see.” He sat quietly for a brief moment. “My sister, Lady Tellson, is in town with her children. We have thought of planning a fireworks display for her son’s birthday. Would you care to join our families for this outing?”

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes lit with anticipation. “The children will love it—and so will I. When?”

He watched her carefully as he answered. “I thought perhaps tomorrow evening? Or the next?”

“Wonderful,” she said without hesitation. “I shall see that the children are prepared.”

“Ogilvie has a large estate on the edge of town. He has offered the use of one of his pastures. We shall return by the children’s usual bedtime.”

“You are not worried about a coach being attacked and robbed, traveling after dark?”

“Not with two outriders and two footmen on each coach as well as Tellson and myself. The servants can also help us keep track of overly excited children.”

“That is probably a good idea, especially in view of Geoffrey’s sense of adventure.” She smiled indulgently, apparently recalling some incident with Geoffrey. Was it quite proper for a man to envy his son?

“Tomorrow is all right then?” he asked, again observing her carefully.

“Yes, of course, if that is your wish.” She looked at him in surprise.

He shook himself mentally. Her surprise was natural—after all, his slightest whim was to be satisfied by an employee, was it not?

“Will that be all, my lord—Adrian?” She quickly added his name on seeing his eyebrow lift.

“Yes.” Instead of waving her off as he would an ordinary servant, he rose and took her hand to lift her from her chair. When she stood before him, he still held her hand and she seemed in no hurry to retrieve it. “I do wish you would reconsider your decision to leave,” he said softly.

“I—I wish I could do so.”

She looked into his eyes and he knew it was true—she wanted to be here, with him. “Elinor—” His voice was husky as he moved his hands to her elbows to pull her closer. “Are you sure?” he whispered as his lips brushed hers.

Then he was holding her tightly, pressing his mouth firmly to hers. She entwined her arms around his head and he felt her fingers in his hair. He deepened the kiss, and with a soft moan, she allowed his tongue to probe. She responded with a fervor that threatened to push him over the edge. He pulled back slightly to shower kisses on her eyelids, her ear, trailing his lips down her neck, pushing his hands through her sweet-smelling hair.

“Are you?” he whispered at her ear.

“Am I what?”

He laughed quietly at the distracted note in her voice. “Are you sure you must leave?”

This seemed to bring her to her senses. She stiffened and stepped back; her hands pushed against his chest. He refused to release her.

“Please, Adrian,” she begged, a catch in her voice. “I must.”

He dropped his arms and stared into mossy green orbs that reflected his own longing and despair.

“I must,” she repeated and turned to leave.

He watched her go, cursing himself for losing control. Just cannot keep your hands off her, can you, Trenville?

But his heart sang at the thought that she had so readily agreed to an outing that might take place at the very same time the spy would be trying to intercept an important message. She had not so much as flinched a muscle or fluttered an eyelash at the suggested time. She was either innocent—or the consummate actress! He did not doubt her sincere reaction to his embrace. No acting there.

Still worried, but more hopeful than he had been previously, he picked up his hat and set off for his club.

 

 

Elinor returned to her chamber, flung herself on the bed, and let the tears flow. Earlier she had taken little comfort in knowing her instincts were right in the feeling of being watched. She knew the man with whom Huntington spoke was not representing the
Earl
of Ostwick, but the young earl’s guardian. Her uncle was on to her. Only Huntington’s greed had given her a temporary reprieve.

Huntington. What a cad he turned out to be. Having thought of him as a friend, she was shocked and sickened to discover he would sell her out to the highest bidder. On the other hand, had he not let drop subtle hints that he enjoyed the high life? His wardrobe bespoke a man of wealth, if somewhat questionable taste. He made no secret that his social life included gambling and associating with some of society’s high flyers. Thomas liked to drop the names of exalted acquaintances into his conversations. Why had it not occurred to her that he was living beyond his means?

But, then, why should it have mattered to her? Thomas’s behavior was not a subject for her concern—until now. Where on earth could she hope to come up with such a sum as he demanded in only four days? Impossible. And even if she could produce it, how much would he demand the next time? Elinor Richards was not so naive as to believe a successful blackmailer would not come back for more.