Nicola Cornick - The Scandals Of An Innocent

“What puzzles you…” she prompted, as Frank Gaines seemed in no hurry to expand on his thoughts but merely sat pinning her in that observant gray gaze, like a butterfly spread wide beneath his inquiring eyes.

“Is where you get your ideas from,” Gaines said. “I have read some of your work, Lady Celia. Indeed, I went specially to purchase your books when I discovered your secret. They were very-” a smile curved his lips “-very engrossing indeed.”

“I have some experience,” Celia snapped, blushing, “and I have observation and imagination.”

“Indeed, you must have.”

The tea arrived. Neither of them seemed inclined to drink any of it. There was a silence between them. Celia fidgeted with her spoon and with her gloves and with the edge of her cloak. Eventually she looked up to see that Gaines was still watching her with that unfathomable look. He seemed to have moved infinitesimally closer to her along the bench. His hand was touching her shoulder now in the lightest and most casual of gestures.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she snapped, “I need to know if you are going to tell anyone!”

Gaines stretched a little. He looked like a lazy cat, all sleek muscle and with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“I see no reason why I should,” he said slowly. “After all, it is not relevant to the inquiries I am making on behalf of Miss Lister.”

Celia felt weak with relief. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“But,” Gaines continued, “I confess I would like something in return.”

Celia’s gaze snapped up to his and saw the amusement in his face. Her heart started to thud again, long slow beats that made her whole body quiver.

“Are you seeking to blackmail me?” she demanded.

“Of course not.” His voice was soothing. “Nothing could be further from my mind. I merely thought that I might…help you? Provide some inspiration, perhaps?”

Celia swallowed convulsively. “I do not believe I need to trouble you on that.”

His hand brushed her sleeve. Celia shivered. “It would be no trouble.”

Celia sat there, frozen, her tea cooling on the table in front of her. Could she do it? She was astonished to realize quite how tempted she was. To learn, to explore…She bit her lip. Frank Gaines said nothing to either persuade her or hurry her, but there was something in his bright gaze that captured her and made her heart race.

“Very well,” she whispered, feeling the excitement make her blood sing even as she marveled at her own audacity, “but where can we do it? No one must guess…”

He shifted a little. “Trust me. I know somewhere.” He rose to his feet and proffered her his arm. “Shall we go?”

Celia stared at him. “Now?”

“Why not?” He smiled at her. “You did not want that tea, did you?”

“No, I…” Celia paused, light-headed at the speed at which everything had happened. “Very well,” she repeated. She took his arm. Her fingers shook slightly as they rested on his sleeve. He covered them with his hand in a gesture that half reassured, half disturbed her.

“You are nervous?”

“Of course.”

He laughed. “Surely you need not be. As you have said, you have some experience and I hope to add greatly to your store.” He raised her hand to his lips. “My very dear Lady Celia…Or perhaps I should call you Celia, since we are to become so much better acquainted?”

She did not correct him. They went out into the snow and soon the whirling flakes had covered their tracks.

MILES WAS IN A THOROUGHLY bad mood by the time he returned to Spring House that evening. When he had called earlier in the day it was to be told that Alice was sleeping and so he had had several hours in which to cool his heels and mull over whether or not Nat and Dexter could possibly be right in their suggestion that Alice herself had procured a marksman to kill him. He knew that no one had a better motive. He knew that he should probably confront Alice about it. He knew he did not want to believe it. The thought pained him so much that he could hardly bear it and he did not understand why.

He knew he deserved it.

He had seen plenty of blackmailers come to an unpleasant end as a result of their crimes, and he had never had an ounce of sympathy for them.

He knocked impatiently on the door of Spring House just as dusk was falling. The snow clouds had gone and the night was crisp and cold, with a sickle moon rising in the deep blue of the evening sky. When Marigold answered the door he hurried inside.

“Is Miss Lister awake?” he demanded.

The maid bobbed an awkward curtsy. “Miss Lister is not in the house, my lord. She said that she needed fresh air and would take a turn in the gardens-”

“What?” Miles had been in the act of divesting himself of his coat but now he froze. Surely Alice could not have been foolish enough to go out alone?

Or confident enough that she was safe, a voice whispered in his mind, because she knew she was not the murderer’s target…

Swearing, Miles dragged his coat on again, ran out the door and down the front steps two at a time. In the gardens, Marigold had said. And darkness was falling, which would provide perfect cover for an assassin…

The old walled garden was empty. So was the parterre, its neat box hedges swathed in a blanket of pristine snow. A blackbird sped from his path with a startled squawk. He scanned the lawns but they were empty, too, turning misty in the twilight. And then he saw a figure walking under the gnarled branches of the orchard and let his breath out on a sigh that was half relief, half fury. He ran.

“What the hell are you doing out here on your own?”

Alice turned toward him and Miles felt fierce emotion slam through his gut. He looked at her. Her face was white and set, the rich gold of her hair seeming to accentuate her pallor. Everything that she had been through that day had evidently exhausted her, for her blue eyes looked so tired and strained that he had a sudden, violent urge to wrap her up and hold her close to give her a comfort that was for once entirely unselfish and not remotely sexual.

The feeling floored him. He knew he was losing his detachment and he had no idea how it could have happened. Earlier on, when he had been trying to rationalize why he had felt so disturbed when Alice was shot, he had told himself that he would dread losing her simply because she was the only one who stood between him and the debtor’s prison. If something happened to Alice he could hardly wed her mother instead. Not even he would stoop to courting Mrs. Lister in order to marry a fortune. He had some standards. So it was, literally, a matter of survival-his survival-that he should protect Alice, guard her and keep her safe.

Yet such glib excuses hardly explained the depth of his feelings. Suddenly it was no longer all about him and what Alice could give to him but seemed to be about her instead. He wanted to comfort and reassure her, care for her and cherish her. And suddenly he knew with a deep conviction that Alice would never seek to hurt him. Dexter’s and Nat’s suggestions were completely wrong. He had no evidence to support the belief, other than his feelings, but his faith in her was absolute.

It shook him to the core.

It was inexplicable. It was alarming.

It was wrong.

He simply could not feel like this. His emotional reaction could only be a rather odd manifestation of his frustration at being denied Alice’s bed. Everything came down to physical lust in the end. It had to. And he had to find a way to regain control.

“I had a headache,” Alice said. “I needed some fresh air.” She smiled at him. She even looked pleased to see him, which only served to irritate Miles more when he was so angry with her for putting herself at risk.

“So you thought to come out here alone when there is a madman running around with a rifle,” Miles said cuttingly. “What an astoundingly bad idea, Miss Lister!”

Alice paused, one hand resting against the trunk of one of the apple trees. A small frown dented her brow. “You are angry with me,” she said.

Miles tried to get a grip on his feelings. “I am trying to protect you,” he said, “and you are making it difficult for me.” He took her arm in a tight grip. “I am taking you back inside.”

Alice’s face set in stubborn lines. “I came out here because I wished for some solitude.”

“And now you are going back.”

Alice gave a sharp sigh. “You are overbearing.” She shot him a look of irritation. “Mama tells me that you wish to stay here at Spring House in order to protect me. I cannot allow it. It is quite unnecessary.”

“To the contrary,” Miles said. “It is absolutely necessary and you do not have any choice, Miss Lister.”

Alice shook her head. “Always you push for more, do you not, Lord Vickery?” she said. She sounded bitter. “And always I am compelled to agree.”

“It is the nature of the game between us,” Miles said, unsmiling.

“It isn’t a game!” Alice snapped. “And this whole thing is so foolish! I have been thinking, and there is no one who could possibly want to kill me! The only people who would benefit from my death would be Mama and Lowell, and neither of them-” She stopped abruptly, seeing the look on Miles’s face. He knew she had read it, that she understood it. Her face went blank with shock. “You think that Lowell might want to harm me,” she whispered. “You do, don’t you?”

Miles sighed. “Not necessarily,” he said, “but we must consider all possibilities, Miss Lister.”

“No,” Alice said. “No!” She stopped walking and snapped a twig from one of the trees, breaking it agitatedly between her fingers. “You have seen how protective he is of me,” she said. “Mama and Lizzie said he was distraught when he first heard the news.” She made a little gesture of desperation. “Surely you cannot believe that he would hurt me? My own brother?”