'Miles?' She laughed. 'What has he to do with it?'
'He was at the inn with your brother and the de Beaunes. Providential that he should turn up on the quay after the attack.'
'Providential indeed,' retorted Beth, her colour heightened. 'He did his best to help Simon.'
'Did he?'
The earl handed her a small mug of punch and she did not reply immediately. She considered his question while she inhaled the pungent aroma of the hot rum and lemons, thinking back over all Simon had told her.
'Yes, he did,' she said emphatically. 'He told the constables they were making a mistake when they accused Simon and, after, he travelled all the way to Malpass to bring us news of Simon's death.'
'That is a lot of trouble to go to for a chance acquaintance.'
'It speaks of a generosity that I cannot begin to match!' she retorted. 'When I think of how I have betrayed him … '
'You have not betrayed Radworth,' he replied curtly.
'No, but I was sorely tempted.'
'If there was no temptation, there would be little honour in resisting.' He smiled at her over the rim of his cup. Hot, aching desire seared through her and she wondered how long her resistance could last when Guy was so close.
She kept her eyes lowered as she sipped at the hot, sweet liquid.
'It is late and you are tired,' he said, putting down his cup. 'Come, let me escort you to your room.'
She picked up her cloak and accompanied him through the gloomy passages. The candles burning in the wall sconces made their shadows dance beside them like clownish attendants. A helpful bootboy directed them to the second floor.
'It appears we are next door to each other,' murmured Guy, opening her door. She hung back as he walked in before her, returning moments later with a candlestick bearing a small stub of candle, which he proceeded to light from one of the lamps in the passageway. 'Here.' He handed her the candlestick. 'Goodnight, Mrs Forrester.'
Beth retreated into her room, locking the door behind her. She heard the squeak of a hinge and footsteps in the room next to hers. That would be Guy. She leaned against the door, unable to stop herself from smiling. When had she begun to think of him as Guy and not the Earl of Darrington?
It was difficult to remember when he had stopped being an unwelcome guest and become so indispensable to her comfort. Somewhere deep inside a tiny flame of hope flickered. Perhaps, when all this was over, there might be a way …
No! Quickly she thrust the thought aside. She dared not even consider the future until Simon was safe. She moved away from the door to inspect her room by the light of her single candle. Dark panelling stretched from ceiling to floor, unalleviated by any decoration save a small mirror on one wall. A large canopied bed took up most of the floor and a small washstand occupied one corner. She was making her way around the bed towards the window when she saw a line of light at the base of one wall. As she drew closer the candlelight revealed a raised edge to the panelling and she noticed a handle and below it a dull metal lock and key …
She jumped back with a gasp as the panelled door swung open. Guy stood in the aperture, a solid, black figure outlined by the lighted room behind him.
'If you planned this … ' she began, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
'No, no, I assure you, I bespoke separate rooms for us.' There was the hint of laughter in his voice. 'I fear the landlord may have misunderstood me.' He looked around. 'Why have you not lit your candles?'
He took the candlestick from her nerveless fingers.
'I-I was about to do so.' She said nothing more; she was not going to admit she had been standing in the darkness, thinking about him.
He went around the room, touching the flame to every candle.
'There.' He held out the candlestick. 'Now you can see to go to bed.'
She reached out, their fingers touching around the metal holder.
Would he kiss her? He was looking down at her, his eyes dark and unfathomable.
He is waiting, she thought suddenly. He is waiting for a sign from me.
She drew herself up to her full height. 'Goodnight, my lord.' She pointed towards the open door.
'Are you sure you want me to go?' His rueful smile was almost her undoing.
'I am sure.' She put her hand on his chest and pushed him gently but inexorably towards the opening.
'Very well, madam.' He stepped back into his own room, saying as she shut the door between them, 'You only have to call if you need me.'
She closed the door and turned the key. It gave a satisfying click.
'What … ' Guy's voice came muffled through the panelling ' … Do you not trust me?'
Despite her raw emotions a gurgle of laughter escaped her. 'Good fences make good neighbours, my lord!'
She prepared slowly for bed. With no nightclothes she decided she would sleep in her shift, but her gown and petticoats needed to be shaken out and folded carefully over a chair in readiness for the morning. She was still smiling when at last she climbed into the bed, thinking of Guy. Was he asleep in the next room, or was he lying awake, just as she was? She curled on her side, nestling her cheek against her hand. He would not coerce her; she was free to lock the door and keep him at a safe distance and that is what she would do. But as the bed grew warmer and she gave herself up to sleep, Beth found herself wishing that she could spend the night in the earl's arms.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunlight filtered into the bedroom through dusty windows and Beth lay still for a few moments. Excitement stole over her when she remembered that they were to go to Bourne Park that morning. She dressed quickly, humming a little tune as she tidied her hair. It was a long time since she had felt quite so happy. It was because they had found Madame de Beaune, she told herself as she picked up her kerchief and arranged it around her neck. It had nothing to do with the fact that the earl was waiting for her downstairs.
His smile, when she joined him for breakfast, was conspiratorial.
'I trust you slept well, Mrs Forrester?'
'Very well, thank you,' she answered, unable to suppress the twinkle as she responded.
His every look was a caress, heightening her awareness, sending the blood singing through her. She poured his coffee; he carved wafer thin slices of ham and beef and put them on her plate. We might be a long-married couple. The thought appeared only to be dismissed. Beth was aware that they were walking on a tightrope of normality. One wrong word, one touch and they would fall headlong into each other's arms. That must not happen, Beth knew there was far too much at stake for her to risk her happiness and that of her family with a passionate affair. So she smiled at the earl, drank in every word, every look and stored them all away. They might be all she would have of him.
They drove to Bourne Park in a blaze of autumn sunshine. When they arrived they found the gates standing wide and no sign of the night watchman or his hounds. The house was a square gentleman's residence built of brick and Portland stone with a flight of shallow steps rising to a solid door set beneath a pillared portico. Beth was insensibly encouraged by the gleaming paint, shining windows and neat garden which hinted at an orderly and well-regulated household.
As they swept around the gravelled drive the butler appeared at the door and a servant ran out to catch the horses' heads.
'We are expected,' murmured Guy, handing Beth down.
They were shown into an elegant morning room where they were greeted by a ruddy-cheeked gentleman in a brown bagwig who announced himself to be Mr Richard Graveney.
'My man told me you called late last night, my lord,' said Mr Graveney, once the introductions were complete. 'Not the usual time for a courtesy call.'
'These are unusual circumstances,' replied the earl. 'We believe you have a visitor, sir, a Madame de Beaune.'
'Indeed?' Sir Richard's face gave nothing away, but his tone was reserved.
'We have come from the White Bear at Widley,' put in Beth. 'We arrived the morning after-after the dreadful events there.'
'And how do you think I can help you, ma'am?'
'We know that the younger Madame de Beaune fled from the inn yesterday morning. I have been told her sister lives in the area, and is married to an Englishman.' She smiled a little. 'That led us to you, sir.'
'We called late last night because we have reason to believe your sister-in-law may be in danger,' added the earl. 'Our concern was somewhat relieved by our … reception.'
Mr Graveney stared at them in silence for a few moments, then walked over to the window, a crease furrowing his brow. After staring out at the park for a few moments he seemed to come to a decision.
'My wife received a letter from her sister, disclosing that she and her mama-in-law had fled the terrors in France and were seeking refuge. Of course we wrote back, offering them shelter. My sister-in-law arrived yesterday, in a state of great distress. She told us old Madame de Beaune had been murdered and she had fled the scene, fearing for her life. She begged us not to reveal her whereabouts to anyone.' He bent a frowning look upon the earl. 'What is your interest in all this matter, my lord?'