The Silverton Scandal Page 5

  By and by the housekeeper left the room, followed by the maid. Eleanor waited for them to disappear round the corner of the corridor, then slipped into the room. It was dark. The only light came from the moon shining in through the window.

  Giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the gloomy conditions, she moved further into the room. She was in luck. The case was on a mahogany console table next to the bed. She went over to it. She pressed the catches and to her relief the lid sprang up. Lord Silverton had evidently picked the lock. She opened the case to its full extent . . . and then felt a wave of dismay. It was empty.

  If the letters had been in the case, then perhaps Lord Silverton had removed them. She was just about to light a candle and examine the room when she became aware of footsteps in the corridor. She closed the case quickly and turned round, only to see the door handle turning. She froze. And then the door swung open . . . to reveal Lord Silverton.

  Eleanor’s heart missed a beat. Unwillingly, her eyes were drawn to his face, with its olive skin drawn firmly across his cheekbones. It was a handsome face, but also a harsh one, made even harsher by the blackness of his hair and the steeliness of his eyes. His jaw was firm, and his mouth was set in a grim line.

  ‘My dear Miss Grantham.’ The air crackled dangerously. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

  Chapter Three

  Eleanor’s heart began to hammer in her chest. She tried to speak, but her mouth was dry and no sound came out. She licked her lips.

  ‘I expect you’re wondering what I’m doing here,’ she said at last, to break the taut silence.

  ‘It’s not uncommon for a woman to visit my room . . . ’ he said speculatively.

  Eleanor was almost stung into making a scathing comment, but remembered at the last minute that she could not let the words pass her lips. If she revealed that she was not there for that purpose, then she would have to explain why she was there; and that was something she was not yet ready to do.

  ‘ . . . although not usually innocent young virgins,’ he finished dangerously.

  Eleanor swallowed.

  ‘Yes, well. There is a very good explanation,’ she said, playing for time. She rubbed her palms together and was mortified to discover that they had become damp.

  ‘There had better be.’

  His tone was bland, but there was menace beneath the surface. She was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was alone with him, and a shiver washed over her from head to foot.

  ‘I . . . lost my way,’ she improvised. ‘I was trying to make my way back to my room after dinner but I took a wrong turning.’

  ‘Did you indeed? Strange that you should do so in a house you have visited many times before. Even stranger that, finding yourself next to my room, you should decide to enter it.’

  She felt her courage sink still further. ‘Yes . . . no . . . that is to say . . . ’

  He walked towards her. Then he lifted her chin, so that she was forced to meet his gaze. ‘That is to say?’ he prompted her silkily.

  ‘That is to say, I . . . wanted to find my bearings.’

  ‘Ah.’ His voice was gentle. But the finger lifting her chin was joined by his thumb and he held her chin in a suddenly pincer-like grip. His voice sharpened. ‘And how did you intend to do that?’

  ‘I . . . ’ Without realizing it, she held her breath.

  His expression suddenly hardened, and his voice became harsh. ‘Tell me, Miss Grantham. What were you really doing in my room?’

  She gulped down some much-needed air. Then she straightened her shoulders. It was obvious she was not going to be able to fool Lord Silverton. She had no choice but to tell him the truth.

  ‘Very well. I will tell you. Just as soon as you let go of me.’

  His eyes glittered, and he held her chin for another minute. But then his hand dropped.

  She gave a sigh of relief . . . although for some reason she missed the touch of his strong fingers. She shook the disturbing thought away. Then, summoning her courage, she said, ‘May I sit down?’

  Glancing at the chairs that flanked the fireplace, he said, ‘Be my guest.’

  Eleanor seated herself in one of the wing-backed chairs. It was fortunate she did so, for as she lowered herself into the chair she felt her legs begin to shake. The tension of the last few minutes had caught up with her, and she was glad she no longer had to stand.

  She gave herself a few moments to steady her nerve. She arranged her skirts so that she would seem busy, and so that he would not guess how nervous she was. But just as she plucked up the courage to speak Lord Silverton closed the door and she started up, nervous again.

  ‘If anyone sees you in my room, your reputation will be damaged,’ he said by way of explanation, following her eyes to the closed door. ‘And I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.’

  Eleanor glanced at his face, trying to read his expression. Did he mean it? she wondered. Had he really closed the door for her protection? Or had he done it to trap her? She had no way of knowing. But deciding to take his words at face value, at least for the moment, she resumed her seat.

  He took a taper from the mantelpiece and thrust it into the fire. Once it was glowing, he used it to light the candles that stood on the small fireside table, and those in the wall sconces. The light blossomed, filling the dark corners with a gentle glow. He replaced the taper and leant his elbow against the mantelpiece.

  Eleanor tried to ignore his eyes, which were fixed on her in the most penetrating way. She took a deep breath and then began.

  ‘I heard the housekeeper telling the maid to hurry with Lord Silverton’s room,’ she explained. She paused. It was now or never. She must decide whether or not to reveal that she knew who he was. She took a deep breath. ‘And I stepped inside because you have something I want.’

  His eyebrows lifted. ‘So. I have something you want.’ He gave her a searching look, then his lips curved in a wicked smile. ‘Perhaps you are not so innocent after all.’

  He reached out one hand and, closing it round her wrist, dragged her to her feet. He pulled her to him, encircling her with his strong arms whilst his eyes traced the line of her brows, her eyes, and her nose, before dropping to her lips . . .

  She was about to pull away from him, but his hand reached out and cupped the back of her head and she tingled from head to foot. His dark head bent towards her and her face turned towards his of its own accord. She could feel the hot whisper of his breath against her skin as his mouth approached hers. It caressed her like a hot wind blowing across the desert. It blew across her lips . . . and suddenly she knew that if she did not break free of the spell that bound her she would surrender herself to him. She stepped back quickly, saying, ‘That is not what I meant.’ But her voice was ragged and uneven, coming in quick, short gasps.

  ‘No?’ One eyebrow rose mockingly. His eyes roved over her flushed cheeks and parted lips.

  She fought down her blushes and hurried on. ‘I came into the room . . . ’ She stopped to steady herself. Feeling her blushes subside, she lifted her chin and said, as calmly as she could, ‘I came to your room because I wanted to look inside the case.’

  She broke off. A deathly silence had suddenly filled the room. At the words the case it was as though everything had stopped. Lord Silverton’s expression was frozen, and she was unable to move.

  Then Lord Silverton’s expression changed. The mockery left his eyes, and they became hard and glittering. His jaw clenched, and his muscles tightened under his clothes. And what magnificent muscles they were, she thought involuntarily, as her eyes were drawn to them against her will. They were sculpted, their shape clearly defined beneath the superb cut of his garments.

  As her gaze wandered from his powerful shoulders and well-shaped arms to the hard muscles of his legs she found herself thinking of a marble statue she had seen of a hero from Greek mythology. But she must not think of it. She was alone in the room of a dangerous man, and she needed her wits about her. In fact, right now he seemed more
dangerous than ever. Her mention of the case had caused a change in him. It had made him tense. Like a panther about to spring.

  Well, she had committed herself now.

  ‘And which particular case are you talking about?’ he asked. There was an air of restraint about him that spoke of an inner battle and an iron will, but there was an ominous edge to his voice that made Eleanor shiver. ‘My dressing case, perhaps?’ he enquired.

  The tension that filled the room made Eleanor’s head spin. Still, this was no time to lose her nerve. She lifted her chin and looked him directly in the eye. ‘No. Not your dressing case.’ She paused. Then, gathering her courage, she said, ‘The case you took from Mr Kendrick.’

  A wave of danger rolled through the room. Large and looming, Lord Silverton was a palpable presence, and she was suddenly filled with doubt. She should not have shown her hand. She should not have revealed to him that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the highwayman. It had been a huge mistake.

  He was still reining himself in. Still holding himself in check. ‘I, Miss Grantham?’ he asked dangerously.

  She swallowed. Then said, with as much courage as she could muster, ‘Yes, Lord Silverton. You.’

  They looked at each other for long moments.

  Bit by bit, some of the unbearable tension began to ebb.

  ‘You intrigue me, Miss Grantham,’ he said at last. ‘First of all you show no fear when I hold up the coach you are travelling on, and then, even though you recognise me, you make no exclamation when you are unexpectedly confronted with me at the local magistrate’s house.’

  She breathed a sigh of relief. At least he had not exploded. But she knew she must not drop her guard, not even for a minute.

  ‘You don’t deny it, then?’ she asked boldly, though inside she was feeling anything but bold. ‘That you are the highwayman?’

  He smiled. It would have broken the tension, if it had not revealed his predatory white teeth.

  ‘What would be the point?’ he returned. ‘You have obviously recognised me. Besides, reactions as violent as the one that took place between us do not happen every day.’

  She felt a shiver wash over her as her body recalled that reaction; a force so powerful it had shaken her entire frame.

  ‘I can’t help wondering, though,’ he went on thoughtfully, ‘why you protected me. You had only to say the word and I would have been arrested.’

  She shook her head. ‘I doubt it. I had no proof. And you were obviously a man of some consequence. Besides —’

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted her.

  She balled her hands into fists. ‘I need you.’ She hurried on, before he had a chance to misunderstand her again. ‘If you had been arrested, I would never have known what was in the case.’

  ‘Ah, yes. We are back to the case.’ The tension was back in him, and the air of menace that had surrounded him earlier returned. ‘So tell me, Miss Grantham, just why do you want to see inside Mr Kendrick’s case?’

  Well, she might as well tell him. It was what she was here for, after all. She took a deep breath. ‘Because I want to find the letters.’

  ‘Letters?’ Did she imagine it, or was he surprised? Either way, some of the wariness seemed to leave him. ‘What kind of letters?’ he asked.

  She steeled herself. ‘Love letters. I was . . . hoping . . . to get them back.’

  ‘Are you telling me Kendrick stole some love letters from you?’ asked Lord Silverton with a sudden smile, although why he should be smiling she did not know. For some reason she could not fathom he seemed to find it amusing, as though he had expected her to say something completely different.

  ‘Not m - yes,’ she finished. She had been going to say, “not me”, but changed her mind at the last minute. She did not want to mention Arabella - the fewer people who knew about her sister’s indiscretion the better - and decided it would be as well to let him think the letters were hers. ‘And I wanted to know if the letters were in the case. They’re not there now,’ she continued, ‘but I need to know: were they there when you took it from Mr Kendrick?’

  His eyes regarded hers searchingly, as if trying to ascertain the truth of what she was saying. She had no idea what he decided. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you,’ he replied at last. ‘But no. There were no letters.’

  Eleanor’s face fell, but she quickly recovered herself. ‘Then I have a proposition to put to you.’

  ‘Miss Grantham, you are full of surprises.’

  She regarded him suspiciously, having the uncomfortable feeling he was mocking her. But instead, there was a light of admiration in his eyes.

  When she did not speak, he said, ‘Go on.’

  ‘Very well. My proposition is this.’ Her eyes met his. ‘I would like you to steal the letters for me.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘And just when I thought I could not be surprised any further,’ he said under his breath.

  ‘You have undertaken one robbery,’ she said, nettled by his reaction. ‘What is so different about undertaking another?’

  ‘Everything. I held up the coach for . . . a wager. It is not something I am in the habit of doing.’

  Her disappointment showed.

  He looked at her thoughtfully for a minute, then said, ‘If you have any sense you will forget about the letters. Mr Kendrick is not a pleasant man. He is mixed up in a number of unsavoury enterprises and he will not hesitate to harm you if you get in his way. You have no marriage forthcoming —’ He broke off and looked at her quizzically.

  ‘No.’

  ‘In that case, the letters can do little more than cause you some temporary embarrassment. Forget about them, Miss Grantham. Mr Kendrick is an evil man. You would do well to leave him alone.’

  Forgetting about the letters was, for Eleanor, out of the question, but as it was clear she was going to get no help from Lord Silverton she simply inclined her head. ‘In that case, I will not keep you.’ She began to walk towards the door.

  His arm rose and barred her way. She looked up at him, but in the candlelight his face was shadowed and she could not read his expression. For a moment she thought he was not going to let her pass. But then he stood aside.

  ‘Good night, Miss Grantham,’ he said softly.

  ‘Good night, Lord Silverton,’ she returned.

  Once out of the room, she gave a huge sigh of relief. Thank goodness that is over, she thought as the door closed behind her.

  Gathering her wits she retraced her steps along the corridor and down the stairs. Then, concentrating on which way she was going, she returned to her own room. Once inside, she leant back against the door. She felt as though she had just fought a battle, instead of having just held a conversation, though undeniably a menacing one.

  As she began to recover her composure, her eyes wandered round the room. The bed was turned down, and looked inviting. A nightgown had been laid out on the pillow and a note was laid on top of it. She went over to the bed and saw that the note was from Lydia.

  I thought you might need this. Sleep well! it read.

  She smiled. It was typical of Lydia to think of her, and the nightgown was much appreciated.

  She put the note on the bedside table, then rang the bell for the maid. The young girl soon arrived and helped her to undress, unfastening her stays and putting her clothes neatly away. Then Eleanor slipped into bed.

  As she did so she told herself that, first thing in the morning, she would be on her way. No matter how difficult her confrontation with Mr Kendrick might prove to be, she was convinced it could not be as nerve-wracking as her encounter with Lord Silverton!

  Chapter Four

  The following morning Eleanor woke early. Dressing quickly, she went down to breakfast. The sooner she found out where Mr Kendrick was, the sooner she would be on her way.

  She hesitated as she reached the bottom of the stairs. If Lord Silverton was in the dining room . . . She shook the thought away. Then opening the door she went in. To her relief, the only person p
resent was Frederick.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Frederick.

  ‘Good morning.’

  Eleanor seated herself at the magnificent mahogany table, whilst one of the servants brought her a cup of chocolate and a selection of hot rolls.

  Eleanor took a sip of her chocolate, and then said nonchalantly, ‘Your enquiries are going well, I hope? You have managed to find Mr Kendrick?’

  She wanted to find out as much as possible about Mr Kendrick, without Frederick becoming suspicious, and a general question seemed the best way to do it.

  Frederick seemed to see nothing unusual in her question, and replied with perfect good humour. ‘In a manner of speaking. My men checked all the houses in the neighbourhood with private carriages, and at last traced Mr Kendrick to the Seftons’ home. Unfortunately, Mr Kendrick had already left. He only called on Mr Sefton for an hour or so on a matter of business yesterday evening and then retired to the inn, where he spent the night before travelling on to London.’

  ‘London?’ queried Eleanor.

  ‘Yes. He has a house in Pall Mall.’

  Better and better thought Eleanor; for although she did not relish seeing Mr Kendrick again, she was pleased to know his address.

  ‘How do you know?’ she asked curiously. ‘Did Mr Sefton tell you so?’

  ‘No. He only knew that Mr Kendrick had a house in London, not where it was. But we had a piece of luck. We found Mr Kendrick’s card case with the other things we recovered from the robbery.’

  ‘I didn’t know anything had been found,’ said Eleanor in surprise. This was news to her.

  ‘Oh, yes. Practically everything, by the look of it, although we shan’t know for sure until we’ve spoken to all the passengers. It seems the highwayman must have dropped his saddlebags in his hurry to get away. They were found not far from the place where the coach was held up. It’s a small consolation, I know, but it’s good to know the blackguard didn’t profit from his crime.’

  Eleanor said nothing, but privately she put a different interpretation on events. She believed that Lord Silverton had deliberately dropped the saddlebags so that the stolen goods could be returned to their owners. It would certainly fit in with his story about holding up the coach for a wager.