The Notorious Lord

Chapter Seven

Rachel had been unable to sleep. She had tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position in the big four-poster bed. There had been a panel of bright moonlight that had crept through a gap in the curtains and illuminated the mantelpiece and a patch of the floor. It disturbed her. Rachel knew that sooner or later, she would have to get up and close the curtains properly. When she finally gave in and did so, she could not help but glance out of the window. The moon was high and the burial mounds were illuminated in black and silver, shadows flowing into darker shadows in a way that was as beautiful as it was mysterious. Nothing moved in the landscape, although Rachel could hear the soft rush of the river away to her right, and the breathy call of the tawny owl in the copse. With a sigh, she put out a hand to draw the curtains, pausing as a flicker of movement caught her eye. Someone was creeping around the edge of the stables.

Rachel almost drew the curtains and left them to it, for, in her opinion, anyone who wished to sneak around an Anglo-Saxon burial site in the dark was clearly quite unhinged. Then she thought of all the hard work that her parents had put into the site. They had not found the Midwinter Treasure yet, nor anything of any great value, but they had catalogued and preserved a great many artefacts that would be of interest to the Saxon scholars at the British Museum. It would be a shocking pity if their work should be sabotaged by an intruder.

Rachel was not afraid of confronting prowlers. She had single-handedly taken on an angry mob in Egypt when they had tried to wreck her parents’ excavation and had vanquished a tomb robber in Derbyshire by hitting him over the head with a seventh-century pot. With an angry swish, she pulled the curtain back into place, then went over to her cupboard. She rummaged about inside, emerging with a thick cloak and a pair of stout outdoor boots. The ensemble was rather haphazard and would gain no plaudits from the fashionable, but Rachel did not care. Even though it was summer and had not rained for weeks, she was taking no chances on flimsy footwear. She did not stop to check her reflection in the mirror. Picking up her candle, she opened the bedroom door.

The moonlight spilled over the floor of the landing and lay in threads down the staircase. Rachel tip-toed down the stairs, holding the candle in one hand and the hem of her cloak up in the other. She paused at the bottom, toying with the idea of rousing her father to come and help, but then she dismissed the thought. Sir Arthur Odell would insist on bringing his blunderbuss and making an unconscionable amount of noise. It would be better to check out the situation and return for help if it was required. After all, it might be that she had simply spotted a poacher. Even so, Rachel paused to remove a medieval dagger from the wall. She had borrowed it before and found just the sight of it made most would-be villains think twice. It also made her feel much, much safer.

The sound of the bolt drawing back on the big front door was loud in the silence, and the crunch of the gravel under Rachel’s boots even more so. At any moment she expected to hear an enraged shout from her father, demanding to know what was going on and putting all miscreants to flight. But there was silence. Nothing stirred under the moon.

Rachel had left the candle in the hall, thinking its light would be drowned out by the moonlight, but the loss of its warm flame made her feel slightly nervous and she wished that she had brought a lantern. She crept along the edge of the house until she reached the gate into the stable yard. In the daylight it did not seem very far. Now it felt like a mile. She slipped through into the cobbled yard. The gate swung open without a creak and Rachel blessed the fact that she had had the hinges oiled only the previous day.

She stood by the fence, scanning the yard. Her eyes must have been deceiving her. There was no one here.

Then she saw the movement. Once again it was no more than a flash on the edge of her vision, but it brought her head around sharply. Someone was in the stables and they had struck a light.

Rachel had no thought to challenge anyone unless they were actually stealing something, and the chances of that seemed remote, for the stable held none of the antiquity finds and precious little besides. Nevertheless she was curious as to the identity of the mystery intruder. She crept along the side of the stables until she could peer through the window.

The inside of the stables was dark, but for a corner where a small lantern was set on the cobbled floor. A man was crouched beside it, methodically sorting through the books that Rachel had stacked there only a few days previously. Except that now they were not neatly stacked. They were scattered across the stone floor in a haphazard muddle that made her furious. Covers were ripped from the wood; splinters lay in the grooves between the cobbles. It was the most unconscionable mess.

The lamplight fell on the man’s tawny hair, but Rachel hardly needed it as a means of identification. She would have recognised Cory Newlyn anywhere, for she had seen him so many times in so many different stances that the images were familiar and unquestioned. With an exclamation of wrath she retraced her steps to the stable door and pushed it open.

She had been intending to declare her presence immediately, but when Cory did not look up from his position sorting the books, a new idea took her. She stole forward softly in her stout boots. The hilt of the dagger felt cold in the palm of her hand.

She crept forward until she was standing directly behind him. She put the dagger against his throat and bent forward until her lips brushed his ear. Apart from the first, sudden tensing she had sensed in him when he felt the blade touch his skin, he did not move.

‘A rifleman caught off his guard,’ she said in his ear. ‘That will never do, Lord Newlyn.’

Cory put his hand up to the dagger and ran his finger along the edge, moving it away from his throat.

‘You could kill someone with that,’ he said conversationally.

‘That,’ Rachel said, ‘was the idea.’

She reversed the dagger and stowed it away somewhere beneath the capacious black cloak. Cory’s breath came slightly more easily. He knew that she had been taught how to use it. He had done the teaching himself.

‘I knew it was you,’ he said.

‘I know you knew,’ Rachel replied, without rancour. ‘If you had not, you would have disarmed me.’

Cory laughed. She sounded as calm and collected as though they were in her parents’ drawing room. He did not intend to tell her that she had had him at a genuine disadvantage. He had not seen or heard her approach, but he had felt her presence. And when she had crept closer to him, he had inhaled the familiar scent of her skin and for a moment it had so paralysed his senses that she would have had plenty of time to despatch him to his maker and he would not have moved a muscle.

‘So you come armed with a dagger when you meet me now,’ he said.

‘It seemed a good idea,’ Rachel said.

‘Have you brought your pistol as well?’

‘No, of course not.’ Rachel looked askance. ‘That is for real emergencies.’ She looked at him critically. ‘What are you doing here, Cory?’

Cory stood up. He felt less vulnerable that way for even without the dagger, Rachel had a way of getting under his guard.

‘Well?’ she said, a little sharply. She pushed one of the books with her foot. ‘You have made a disgraceful mess.’

Cory smiled faintly. He might have known that that would be one of the aspects of the situation that occurred to her first.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I will tidy it up.’

‘It appears,’ Rachel said, frowning slightly, ‘that either you have been suffering acute insomnia and were desperately seeking some reading matter, or that you were searching for something.’

Cory hesitated. Now that the moment had come, he found that he was utterly incapable of lying to Rachel. This was inconvenient, since he had a secret purpose, but he had not lied to her in seventeen years and he did not intend to start now. He looked at her and she looked back, her brows raised slightly as she awaited his explanation. Cory took a deep breath.

Then she forestalled him.

‘Oh! I know what you are doing!’

Cory’s heart jumped. ‘Do you?’ he said weakly.

‘Yes!’ A wrathful gleam had come into Rachel’s eyes. ‘You are trying to steal a march over me in finding the treasure. You remembered that I said I had found some of Mr Maskelyne’s old books and you thought that they might contain a clue. It is plain as plain!’

‘So it is,’ Cory said. He felt a mixture of relief and guilt that Rachel had saved him the necessity of explaining.

‘Well!’ Rachel said. She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. ‘Of all the low tricks! To think that you crept out here in the middle of the night as well. That is taking our rivalry too far!’

‘I know,’ Cory said. ‘It is shameful.’ He picked up the lantern and took her arm, steering her out of the stall. ‘I swear that I shall come and tidy them up tomorrow.’

‘You had better do,’ Rachel said, only half-mollified. ‘I put them away in here to keep things neat.’

‘I do not suppose,’ Cory said, ‘that you saw anyone else creeping about in the stables tonight?’

‘No, only you,’ Rachel said crossly. ‘How many people were you expecting?’

‘None,’ Cory said truthfully. He wanted to ask her whether she had told anyone else about Jeffrey Maskelyne’s books, but he knew that it was dangerous to do so. Rachel was no fool and would soon put the evidence together-and come up with a conclusion different from the one that she had just reached. For the time being he did not want her making any deductions of her own.

‘I thought that no one had seen me coming in here,’ he said.

Rachel brushed some stray pieces of straw off her cloak. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you. You are not as surreptitious as you think.’

‘Evidently not,’ Cory said. He put the lantern down on the floor. ‘Nor are you very sensible, Rae. Did you not think to rouse your father before coming out on your own in the dark, in pursuit of a scoundrel?’

Rachel was dusting the hem of her cloak, but now her hand stilled. She flashed him an irritable look. ‘No, I did not. I had my dagger to protect me. Besides, you know how dangerous Papa can be with his blunderbuss. The last time that I called on him to secure a site, he almost shot a gamekeeper.’

Cory allowed his gaze to travel over her. The hem of her nightgown peeped from beneath her thick dark cloak. Beneath the white lace edging, the heavy boots looked more incongruous still. Cory found himself dwelling on what lay under the nightgown and quickly re-focussed on Rachel’s face. That did not help a great deal. Her hair was loose and it tumbled about her shoulders and down her back in thick, chestnut waves. It was so unusual for Rachel not to fasten her hair up that that in itself was a seduction to him. It put ideas into his head. Ideas that he knew he should dismiss. Ideas that he quite definitely wished to explore further…

He cleared his throat.

‘So,’ he said, ‘you came out on your own in a state of undress to deal with whatever you might find lurking in the dark…’

Rachel blinked in the lamp flame. He could sense that some of his own feelings had communicated themselves to her, for she was looking at him a little uncertainly. Her eyes were wide and dark. Her tongue came out to touch her bottom lip. Cory felt his body jolt instinctively in response.

‘I…’ Rachel’s voice sounded as husky as his ‘…I suppose that I did.’

‘And how will you deal with it?’

Her gaze clung to his. ‘I thought that I had already done so.’

Cory took a step closer. He allowed his eyes to linger boldly, thoughtfully, on her mouth. ‘Oh, no, Rae. You have barely started to contend with the situation. Indeed, in some ways you have made it a deal worse.’

Rachel’s back came up against the stable door. Cory followed her, stalking her until he was so close her cloak brushed his arm. He could feel the tension in her now. A pulse beat rapidly in the soft skin at the hollow of her throat. He wanted to press his lips to it. She was holding herself together very tightly, but there was no trepidation in her eyes. They held his fearlessly. He moved in so close that he could feel the brush of her breasts against his chest. His body hardened into arousal.

Rachel tilted her chin up further so that her eyes met his. Their lips were about three inches apart now.

‘So?’ Cory said, with an expressive lift of his brows.

‘So…’ Rachel put her hand against his chest. ‘Stand back, Cory.’

‘Or?’

‘Or I shall be obliged to demonstrate that I have not forgotten the manoeuvre you taught me to deal with libertines. It involves a sharp elbow in the stomach.’

Cory laughed and put one hand against the stable wall, trapping her with his body. ‘You would not do that to me, Rae. You like me too much.’

‘I can think of no one who deserves it more,’ Rachel said steadily. ‘You have behaved like the veriest rake towards me ever since you arrived in Midwinter.’

Cory drew in a sharp breath. This was upping the stakes indeed and he was happy to follow where she led. ‘Behaving like a rake,’ he said. ‘Do you think so?’ He paused for a heartbeat. ‘I can do far better than this, I assure you.’

‘I do not doubt it.’ There were sparks of gold reflected in Rachel’s hazel eyes, sparks of anger, amusement and challenge. ‘You will not practise on me, however.’

Cory raised a hand and moved the tendrils of hair gently away from her neck. Her skin was smooth and warm. He felt the tiny shiver that she repressed at his touch.

‘Shall I not?’ he said. ‘But then, perhaps I am not practising.’

He bent his head so that his lips took the place of his fingers at the curve of her neck. A sigh escaped her at the gentle abrasion of his stubble against the softness of her skin.

‘You have not shaved,’ she said. Her voice was very slightly unsteady.

‘Do you like it?’ Cory rubbed his chin experimentally against the line of her jaw and felt again the quiver that ran through her. Rachel’s eyes were almost closed, the lashes a shadow against her cheek. Cory looked at her and felt the slow, sensual pleasure build in his blood. This was explosive. She looked abandoned and beautiful and it threatened the iron control that he was exercising. He could not quite believe that she was letting him do this.

‘It…’ She sounded dreamy. ‘It is very pleasant. Like scouring…’

Cory laughed. ‘I confess that I had not thought of it in those terms before, but if it pleases you…’

A smile curved Rachel’s mouth. Cory could not resist. He touched his lips very lightly to hers in a shadow of a kiss that was as potent as it was brief. Heat ripped through him. He had to force himself not to pull her into his arms there and then and ravish her mouth as thoroughly as he wished to take her body.

Her eyelashes flickered. ‘You do not play fair.’

‘Did you expect me to?’

Her smile deepened. ‘I had not thought of it before but, no, I suppose not.’ Her eyes opened wide and at the same time she increased the pressure against his chest so that he had no doubt that she meant him to step back. ‘And nor do I, Cory Newlyn. It is time to end the game.’

Shock and strong admiration hit Cory in equal measure. He stared into her eyes with dawning incredulity.

‘You were pretending?’

‘I was. Weren’t you?’

Cory took her shoulders in a hard grip and stared into her eyes. She met his gaze defiantly but at the back of her eyes he could see the remains of sweet, drugging sensual pleasure. It gave him a grim satisfaction to know that she had had to work hard to overcome it. She was not as indifferent to his touch as she liked to pretend.

‘I do not believe you,’ he said.

Emotion flickered behind her defiant mask. ‘You had better believe me, Cory. Furthermore, I remembered one other precaution that you taught me.’

‘Which was?’

Rachel put one hand behind her and pushed the stable door. It swung open silently on to the yard and she stepped back, out of his grasp.

‘You taught me always to leave myself a means of escape,’ she said sweetly. ‘Goodnight, Cory.’

Cory waited until he heard the scrape of the front door closing, then waited again until he saw the flicker of candlelight behind the curtains of Rachel’s bedroom. She was safe back in her bed, having avoided all the perils that the night had to offer. Cory smiled slightly. The most dangerous of those perils had undoubtedly been himself. Yet Rachel had acquitted herself magnificently, playing against him with a coolness that he was obliged to admire.

It was not often that his advances were so thoroughly rejected, but Cory could accept it. Rachel’s undeniable response to him sweetened the bitter pill of her rebuff. For no matter that she denied it, he knew there had been a moment when her feelings had been as strong as his own. It roused all his predatory instincts and made him wish to pursue the game further. He had never imagined that crossing swords with someone who knew him so well could be so stimulating. Far from being predictable, it was incredibly exciting. They knew each other’s minds, knew each other’s reactions. It was like a game of chess where the stakes were high. He could make a mistake simply through assuming that he knew Rachel well enough to guess her response to him. Cory, who thrived on challenge, admitted wryly to himself that such a situation was extremely appealing to him.

He let himself out of the stable yard and set off down the tree-lined drive to the road. The breeze on his face was pleasant and light and he welcomed its refreshing coolness. He found himself in something of a dilemma. He wanted Rachel Odell and had wanted her for some considerable time now. Tonight had only emphasised that. But this was no light flirtation to pass the summer and then be forgotten. He could not simply seduce the childhood friend that he loved, the daughter of a man who was his respected mentor. If he took the step of paying court to Rachel, then it would be irrevocable. He would have to persuade her to marry him. He would have to persuade her to put aside all the things that she wanted-a settled life, peace and tranquillity, a stable home-and convince her that they were as nothing compared to what he could offer her.

Cory was not at all sure that he had the right to even try. He was not in the least certain of success. On the other hand, failure was not an option. If he failed, not only would he lose Rachel, he would lose her friendship and would never regain it.

Cory was used to making decisions in seconds that would take other men days or even weeks. He was an adventurer, accustomed to risk. This felt like the biggest risk that he would ever take in his entire life.

He knew that his decision was already made, but he also knew that he had to be careful. He had to woo Miss Rachel Odell, his dearest and closest friend. And he had to do it in a manner that would not startle or scare her, a manner so subtle that she would not notice until it was too late and she felt as strongly for him as he did for her.

A sound from behind him interrupted his thoughts and caused him to pause and glance over his shoulder. The road stretched behind him like a silver ribbon on the moonlight. It was empty. Nevertheless, he thought he heard the patter of footsteps. He started walking again. The steps seemed to echo his. He paused again. There was silence. Cory reached very quietly for the pistol at his belt.

He started walking again, softly, carefully. The footsteps followed him. He could almost feel eyes on his back. Yet he knew that if he turned, there would be no one there.

The attack came with a silent uprush of shadows. There was the sound of running feet and then a bullet whistled past his ear, so close that Cory felt the breeze of its passing. He flung himself down into the ditch and drew his own pistol in one movement, firing by the same instinct that had prompted him to dive for cover and thus save his life. He heard a muffled cry. Hauling himself out of the ditch, he was just in time to see a shadowy figure leap over a farm gate and head towards a covert of trees some fifty yards distant. In the faint moonlight it looked insubstantial, a wraith of a creature yet one capable of murder.

The urge to pursue was a strong one, but a cool head and tactical thought overrode Cory’s natural instinct. He was alone, he did not know the terrain and his assailant had a lead of twenty or so yards. He doubted very much that the attacker would return to take another shot.

Cory let his breath out in a long sigh. ‘I am not so easy to dispose of as Jeffrey Maskelyne,’ he muttered grimly as he stowed the pistol back in his belt. Doubtless his assassin would have been surprised to find that he was armed. He guessed that they had planned to bring him down with one shot and follow it up with a second from close quarters. And he had given them the perfect chance by electing to walk back on his own. They had come very close and only his instinct for danger had saved him. He could feel the cold sweat trickling from his brow now.

A carriage rounded the corner behind him, lamps blazing, and drew to a stop beside him on the road. The door swung open.

‘Can I offer you a lift?’ Richard Kestrel’s voice said wryly.

Cory had never been so glad to see anyone in his life. He swung up into the carriage and closed the door behind him with a decisive click.

Once he was seated on the thick red cushions with the Richard Kestrel looking at him with quizzical amusement, he felt rather a fool.

‘Everything all right, old fellow?’ Richard asked. ‘You did not have any trouble at Midwinter Royal, did you?’

Cory shook his head. Rachel Odell was trouble, but of an entirely different sort.

‘Someone had been there before me,’ he said. ‘The books had all been ripped apart. If Maskelyne had used them for concealment, then the secret is lost.’

There was a silence. ‘Someone else knew about them,’ Richard said slowly.

‘It would appear that way, certainly.’

Richard eyed him closely. ‘Was that all that happened? I thought you were in better shape than to get in a sweat over a walk home!’

Cory rubbed his sleeve across his forehead. ‘Did you see anyone on the road?’ he asked.

Richard’s eyes sharpened in interest. He shook his head slowly. ‘Not a soul,’ he said. ‘I’ve driven back from Midwinter Marney. Ross Marney and I went from dinner to what passes for a club in this godforsaken spot-’ He broke off, eyeing Cory closely. ‘But I do not believe you want to hear my social engagements, old chap. What happened to you?’

Cory grinned. ‘Someone just took a pot shot at me,’ he said baldly.

Richard was too cool a hand to show a great deal of surprise at this intelligence.

‘Are you injured?’ he enquired.

‘Of course not,’ Cory said.

‘Did you injure your assailant?’

‘Of course.’ Cory’s tone turned grim. ‘Though not as much as I would have wished. The bullet winged him-or her-in the arm, I think.’

‘Her?’ Richard questioned.

Cory shrugged. ‘It could have been. I only caught a glimpse, and it was impossible to tell. It could not be Miss Odell, though,’ he added on an afterthought.

Richard looked quizzical. ‘Why not?’

Cory laughed. ‘Because she would not have missed me,’ he said. ‘I taught her to shoot myself.’

Richard sat back on the seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him. In the light of the carriage lamps his expression had turned calculating. ‘I will get Justin to ask around,’ he said. ‘He has the right contacts. Someone may know something. They always do if the price is right.’

‘It could have been a poacher or a footpad,’ Cory conceded, ‘but I do not think it likely.’

‘Neither do I,’ Richard said. ‘But how convenient that you injured your quarry, Cory.’ His tone hardened. ‘The reading group meets tomorrow afternoon. Lady Sally told me so herself at the dinner this evening. I think we might pay an impromptu call at Saltires.’

‘It would be courteous,’ Cory said, his lips twitching.

‘And we shall see,’ Richard added, ‘which of the ladies is indisposed-or nursing some sort of injury. It should be most enlightening.’