Page 46 of The Untamed Heart
“You think he means to do Marcus harm?”
Alex shrugged. “I do not know. I only know that everything Lucius deduced from that one piece of paper has been entirely correct so far. A military man in financial difficulties, one with a long-standing grudge against Marcus, and one that hails from Kent. I also remember that he warned us the fellow would likely decide threats alone were not enough.”
Gee-Gee looked alarmed by this and Alex cursed himself for having worried her. She’d always had a soft spot for Marcus, who had been a quiet, solitary lad. He was not usually so clumsy, but he could concentrate on nothing, even this business of Marcus’s, which he feared was more serious than they had first believed. How could he when he knew Clara was hurting? Was she angry with him? Disappointed? Or just sad?
His guts twisted into a knot.
“Don’t worry, Gee-Gee. Sheringham and Darenth are close on the man’s heels, and Marcus has survived more battles than most. If Keller is the blackmailer, the man is a coward, and Marcus is no fool. Besides which, we are all on the alert. Please do not worry.”
Gee-Gee nodded, though she did not look entirely soothed. “Darenth is an odd fellow,” she mused, frowning. “Didn’t he try to blow you up as a lad?”
Despite everything, Alex laughed. “Not me precisely, but a box of sweetmeats. I looked like a startled chimney sweep for a good few days, however.”
“Not quite right in the upper storeys, though,” Gee-Gee persisted. “Which is strange, for his parents are such quiet, simple people.”
Alex nodded, remembering the duke and duchess fondly. They had always seemed utterly bewildered by their brilliant son and quite at a loss at what to do with him. Well, who wouldn’t be?
“Darenth is a good fellow at heart and having a brain that size must mean there’s less space for all the usual things. There’s just no room.”
Gee-Gee chuckled. “Well, that is as good an explanation as we are likely to get about Lord Darenth.”
Alex nodded, desperately wishing to keep the conversation going, for then he did not have to think about Clara.
“What are you reading?”
Gee-Gee picked it up and turned it to show him the cover. “The new book by Wilbert Averythe, The Withered Bough.”
Alex frowned. “I thought you loathed Averythe?”
“So did I,” Gee-Gee admitted. “But Della wrote and told me I must read it, for it is quite different from his early work. All those dismal heroines, as much spine as a wet lettuce, and so prosy and dull, but this is much better.”
“Better than Mrs Wildblood?” Alex pressed, amused at Gee-Gee’s endless appetite for dreadful novels.
“No,” she said slowly. “Not better, for those are the most delightful and riveting reads. I once read one of Mrs Wildblood’s novels in one sitting, but this is quite different. It is slower and rather stark. I have needed to set it aside several times to take a breath, but… oh, the depth of emotion of the characters. It is quite, quite captivating.”
Alex nodded, though in truth he had stopped listening, his thoughts returning inexorably to Clara, to the pallor of her skin, the pain in her lovely eyes as he had said those cutting words. His mind drifted back to the scene, worrying at it in the same way his tongue might return to a sore tooth.
His grandmother’s voice was a welcome interruption until he registered her words.
“Have you thought anymore about our conversation, Alex? For Countess Kerseymere has written to me suggesting she bring Lady Araminta to stay for a time. And as you are so intent on remaining under my roof… not that I object, you understand.”
Alex stiffened, his temper rising. “I am aware of my duty, and I need no one to advise me of it, I assure you. Keep your meddling to yourself, Gee-Gee. I will not have you interfering in my private affairs.”
He got to his feet, determined to put an end to the conversation before it could set off in the circular fashion it always took.
“But you do not have any private affairs, Alex, that is the problem!” his grandmother called after him in frustration.
Alex snorted, closing the door behind him. “That’s what you think,” he muttered grimly, and hurried away.
The George Inn, Battle, 27th September 1816
Sheringham kicked the chair by the fire and cursed savagely. “Bloody buggering hell!”
They had missed the bastard again, and by a gnat’s whisker by the sound of things. Yet the devil had led them a merry chase around the southeast and they were both exhausted.
Lucius, looking remarkably unperturbed, sat in the opposite chair by the fire and stretched out his long legs with a sigh.
“Why aren’t you kicking the furniture?” Sherry asked furiously. If he must be up to his neck in this bloody little intrigue, he did not see why he ought to be the only one worked up about it.
