I Thee Wed Read online

  I Thee Wed

  Amanda Quick

  (Jayne Ann Krentz)

  1999

  ISBN 07090-6515-9

  Chapter One

  Someone else got to the apothecary first.

  Edison Stokes crouched beside him in the gloom of the dark little shop. He glanced at the hilt of the blade that was sunk deep in the old man’s chest. Removing the knife would only hasten the inevitable.

  “Who did this?” Edison gripped the gnarled hand. “Tell me, Jonas. I swear he will pay.”

  The herbs.” Blood burbled from the apothecary’s mouth. “He purchased the special herbs. Lorring instructed me to send word if anyone sought to—”

  “Lorring got your message. That’s why I’m here.” Edison leaned closer. “Who bought the herbs?”

  “Don’t know. Sent servant for them.”

  “Can you tell me anything that will help me find the man who did this to you?”

  “Servant said—” Jonas broke off as more blood filled his mouth.

  “What did the servant say, Jonas?”

  “Had to have herbs immediately. Something about leaving town to attend a house party.”

  Edison felt the apothecary’s hand grow lax. “Who is giving the house party, Jonas? Where is it to be held?”

  Jonas closed his eyes. For a few seconds Edison thought there would be no more information. But the apothecary’s bloodstained lips moved one last time.

  “Ware Castle.”

  Chapter Two

  The Bastard was here at Ware Castle.

  Damn the man. Emma Greyson clenched one gloved hand into a fist on the balcony railing. Of all the thoroughly rotten luck. Then again, it was all of a piece, she thought. Her luck had been rotten for some time now, culminating in complete financial disaster two months ago. Nevertheless, discovering that she would have to spend the next week trying to avoid Chilton Crane was really too much.

  She drummed her fingers on the ancient stone. She should not have been so startled to see Crane arrive that afternoon. After all, the Polite World was a relatively small one. There was nothing odd about The Bastard being among the many guests who had been invited to the large house party.

  She could not afford to lose this post, Emma thought. Crane might not remember her, but the only sensible thing to do was to stay out of his path for the duration of the house party. With so many people about, it should be a simple matter to disappear into the woodwork, she assured herself. Few took any notice of paid companions.

  A slight whisper of movement in the darkness below the balcony jerked her out of her glum reverie. She frowned and peered more closely into the deep shadows cast by a high hedge.

  One of the shadows shifted. It moved out of the darkness and glided across a moonlit patch of lawn. She leaned forward and caught a glimpse of the figure who moved like a ghost through the silver light. Tall, lean, dark haired, dressed entirely in black clothing. She did not need the brief glint of moonlight on his austere, ascetic cheekbones to recognize the man below.

  Edison Stokes. By chance she had been returning from a walk yesterday afternoon when he arrived at the castle. She had seen him drive his gleaming phaeton into the courtyard. The sleek carriage had been drawn by perfectly matched, well-trained bays. The huge creatures had responded to Stokes’s hands on the ribbons with calm precision. Their willing obedience indicated that their master relied on technique and skill rather than whips and savage bits for control.

  Later Emma had noticed that the other guests watched Stokes with sidelong glances whenever he was in the room. She knew their ferretlike interest meant that he was very likely both extremely wealthy and extremely powerful. Quite possibly extremely dangerous. All of which made him extremely fascinating in the minds of the bored and thoroughly jaded elite.

  The shadows shifted again. Emma leaned a little farther out over the balcony. She saw that Stokes had one leg over the sill of an open window. How very odd. He was, after all, a guest in the castle. There was no need for him to skulk about this way. There was only one reason why Stokes would choose such a clandestine approach. He was either returning from a tryst with the wife of one of the other guests or he was about to conduct one.

  She did not know why, but she had expected better of Stokes. Her employer, Lady Mayfield, had introduced them last night. When he had inclined his head very formally over her hand, her intuition had sparked briefly. This was not another Chilton Crane, she had told herself. Edison Stokes was more than just another debauched rake in a world that already teemed with an overabundance of the species. Obviously she had been wrong. And not for the first time lately.

  A burst of raucous laughter spilled from one of the open windows farther along the east wing of the castle. The men in the billiard room sounded quite drunk. Music poured forth from the ballroom.

  Down below her balcony, Edison Stokes vanished into a darkened chamber that was not his own.

  After a while Emma turned and walked slowly back into a dimly lit stone passage. She could safely retire to her bed chamber, she decided. Lady Mayfield would be in her altitudes by now. Letty was extremely fond of champagne. She would never notice that her paid companion had disappeared for the evening.

  The sound of muffled voices on the little-used back stairs brought Emma to an abrupt halt midway along the corridor. She paused and listened intently. Soft laughter echoed. A couple. The man sounded disgustingly cup-shot.

  “Your maid will be waiting up for you, I assume?” Chilton Crane mumbled with ill-concealed eagerness.

  Emma froze. So much for her hopes that her luck would improve.

  The glow of a candle appeared on the wall of the staircase. In another moment Crane and his companion would emerge into the hall where she stood. She was trapped. Even if she whirled and ran as fast as she could, she would not be able to make it all the way back down the corridor to the main staircase.

  “Don’t be silly,” Miranda, Lady Ames, murmured. “I dismissed the girl before I went downstairs this evening. I certainly did not want her in the way when I returned.”

  “There was no need to get rid of her,” Chilton said quickly. “I’m certain we could have found some use for the chit.”

  “Mr. Crane, are you by any chance suggesting that my maid join us under the covers?” Miranda retorted archly. “Sir, I am shocked.”

  “Variety is the spice of life, my dear. And I have always found that females who are dependent upon keeping a post in a household are extremely willing to do as they are told. Eager, in fact.”

  “You will have to indulge your taste for the serving classes some other time. I have no intention of sharing you with my maid tonight.”

  “Perhaps we could look a bit higher for someone to make up a threesome. I noticed that Lady Mayfield brought along a companion. What do you say we arrange to summon her to your bed chamber on a pretext of some sort—”

  “Lady Mayfield’s companion. Surely you don’t mean Miss Greyson?” Miranda sounded genuinely appalled. “Never say that you have a mind to seduce that bland creature in spectacles and caps. And that dreadful red hair. Have you no taste at all in such matters?”

  “I have often found that drab clothing and spectacles can conceal a surprisingly lively spirit.” Chilton paused. “Speaking of Lady Mayfield’s companion—”

  “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

  There is something oddly familiar about her,” Chilton said slowly. “I wonder if I have encountered her elsewhere.”

  Panic uncoiled in Emma’s stomach. She’d had reason to hope that Crane had not recognized her earlier when, trapped in the music room, she had been forced to walk right past him to escape. He had glanced only casually in her direction. She had told herself that men such as Crane, who enjoyed forcing them
selves on their hosts’ hapless maids, governesses, and paid ladies’ companions, did not commit their victims’ features to memory. Furthermore, her hair was now a different color. Fearful that a previous employer, who had dismissed her for insubordination, might have warned her acquaintances about that insolent, red-haired female, she had worn a dark wig during the short period of her employment at Ralston Manor.

  “Forget Lady Mayfield’s companion,” Miranda ordered. “She is a boring little thing. I assure you I can entertain you in a much more interesting fashion than she can.”

  “Of course, my dear. Whatever you say.” Chilton sounded vaguely disappointed.

  Emma edged back a step. She had to do something. She could not stand here like a cornered hare and wait for Miranda and Crane to emerge from the stairwell.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The only light in the darkened hall came from a single wall sconce halfway along the corridor. Heavily timbered doors sunk deep in the stone marked the entrances to the various bed chambers.

  She whirled, picked up her skirts, and hurried back along the stone corridor. She would have to hide in one of the rooms. The castle was very full, and each room on this floor had been assigned to a guest. But surely they would all be empty at this hour. The night was young. Ware’s friends were still downstairs, enjoying the dancing and the flirting.

  She paused in front of the first door and turned the knob. Locked. Her heart sank. She rushed to the next door. It too refused to budge.

  Panic ate at her. She went to the third door, seized the knob, twisted. And breathed a ragged sigh of relief when it turned easily in her hand. She slipped quickly into the room and shut the door very quietly behind her. She surveyed her surroundings. The bright moonlight pouring through the window revealed the heavy curtains of a large, canopied bed. There were towels on the washstand. The dressing table was littered with elegant little bottles. A woman’s lace-trimmed nightgown lay across the bed.

  She would wait here until Chilton and Miranda disappeared into one of the other bed chambers. Then she would make her way back to the rear stairs.

  She turned, put her ear to the door, and listened to the footsteps moving down the hall. They were coming closer.

  A dreadful premonition seized Emma. What if she had stumbled into Miranda’s bed chamber? The footsteps paused in front of the door.

  “Here we are, Chilton.” Miranda’s voice was muffled by the heavy door. “Just let me get my key.”

  Emma stepped back from the door as if it had turned red-hot. She had only seconds. Miranda believed her door to be locked. She was no doubt busily rummaging about in her reticule, hunting for the key.

  Emma searched the moonlit room with desperation. There was no space under the bed. She could see that traveling trunks had been stored there. That left only the massive wardrobe. She ran toward it. Her soft kid evening slippers made no noise on the carpet.

  Crane’s drunken laughter echoed on the other side of the door. Emma heard the soft ting of metal on stone.

  “There now, see what you made me do?” Miranda said. “I dropped it.”

  “Allow me,” Chilton said.

  Emma yanked open the heavy wardrobe, pushed her way through a forest of frothy gowns, and climbed inside. She reached out and pulled the door closed behind her.

  She was instantly enfolded in utter darkness. A man’s arm wrapped around her waist. She started to scream. A warm palm clamped around her mouth. She was pulled roughly against a strong, rock-hard chest and pinned there.

  Terror crashed through Emma. The problem of being recognized paled into insignificance compared to her new predicament. No wonder she had found the door of this bed chamber unlocked. Someone else had already sneaked into the room.

  “Silence, please, Miss Greyson,” Edison Stokes whispered directly into her ear. “Or we shall both have a great deal of explaining to do.”

  He had recognized her when she jerked open the door of the wardrobe. From his vantage point behind what he took to be a stylish carriage dress, Edison had seen the moonlight glint fleetingly on a pair of gold spectacles. In spite of the untenable situation, an odd sense of satisfaction drifted through him. He had been right about Lady Mayfield’s dowdy little companion after all. The moment he was introduced to her, he had realized that she was not possessed of any of the qualities one expected to find in a female who had pursued such a career.

  Her manner had been properly reticent and self-effacing. But there had been nothing meek or humble about those very perceptive, very clever green eyes. The fires of intelligence, determination, and spirit burned in their depths.

  A most formidable lady, he remembered thinking at the time. And attractive into the bargain, although she had obviously done her best to conceal that fact behind the spectacles and an unfashionable bombazine gown, which looked as if it had been dyed several times. Now he learned that she amused herself by hiding in wardrobes located in other people’s bed chambers. How very intriguing.

  Emma shifted impatiently in his grasp. He was suddenly very aware of the firm, rounded curves of her breasts pressed against his arm. The clean, faintly herbal scent of her body made him realize just how small, confined, and exceedingly intimate the wardrobe was.

  She had obviously recognized him, had declined to panic, and was no longer actively struggling. Cautiously he took his hand away from her soft mouth. She made no sound. It was clear that she was no more eager to be discovered than he was. He wondered if he was sharing the wardrobe with an enterprising little jewel thief.

  “Really, Chilton.” Miranda no longer sounded amused. “You’ll ruin my gown. Kindly do not paw me. There is no hurry, you know. Allow me to light the candle.”

  “My dear, you inspire such passion, I vow I cannot wait another moment for you.”

  “You can at least take off your shirt and your neckcloth.” Miranda was clearly growing annoyed. “I am not one of your lusty little chambermaids or insipid ladies’ companions to be taken up against the wall.”

  Edison felt a tremor go through Emma. His hand brushed against hers, and he realized she had locked her fingers into a fist. Rage or fear? he wondered.

  “But it took my valet forever to tie this particular knot,” Chilton whined. “Called the Antique Fountain, y’know. Quite the latest style.”

  “I shall remove it for you now and retie it for you before you leave,” Miranda murmured in honeyed tones. “I have always wanted to play valet to a gentleman such as yourself. A man of such magnificent endowments.”

  “Is that a fact?” Chilton sounded somewhat mollified by the compliment. “Well, if you insist. But be quick about it. Haven’t got all night, y’know.”

  “But we do have all night, my dear sir. That is just my point.”

  Clothing rustled softly. Miranda murmured something that was inaudible. Chilton groaned. His breathing became loud.

  “My, you are eager tonight,” Miranda said. She did not sound pleased by the discovery. “I hope you will not prove to be too eager. I cannot abide a gentleman who does not wait for the lady to go first.”

  “The bed,” Chilton muttered. “Let’s get on with it. I didn’t come here to make casual conversation, y’know.”

  “Just let me take off your shirt. I do so love the sight of a manly chest.”

  “I’ll get out of my own bloody damn shirt.” There was a short pause. “There, that takes care of the thing. Let’s have at it, madam.”

  “Damnation, Chilton, that is enough. Let me go. I am not some cheap whore in Covent Garden. Take your hands off me. I have changed my mind.”

  ”But, Miranda—” Chilton’s voice broke off on a hoarse grunt, followed by a long, drawn-out groan.

  “Bloody hell,” he finally muttered. “Now see what you made me do.”

  “You have certainly ruined my sheets,” Miranda said, contempt thick in her voice. “I brought them with me from London so that I could be assured of sleeping on good linen, and now look what you’ve done.”

&nb
sp; “But, Miranda—”

  “I can certainly understand now why you prefer women who are in no position to demand any great skill from their lovers. You have all the finesse of a seventeen-year-old youth with his first woman.”

  “It was your own fault,” Chilton mumbled.

  “Leave at once. If you stay any longer, I shall likely expire from boredom. Fortunately, there is still enough time for me to find a more talented gentleman to entertain me for the rest of the night.”

  “Now see here—”

  “I said, get out.” Miranda’s voice rose in a sudden shriek of pure rage. “I’m a lady. I deserve better. Go find a chambermaid or that whey-faced companion of Lady Mayfield’s if you want to amuse yourself. Given your pathetic lovemaking skills, those are the only sorts of females who would take any interest in you.”

  “Maybe I’ll do just that,” Chilton retorted. “I’ll wager I’d have a lot more fun with Miss Greyson than I just did here with you.”

  Emma flinched beneath Edison’s restraining arm.

  “I’ve no doubt of that,” Miranda snapped. “Get out of here.”

  “I once had a bit of a romp with a lady’s companion at Ralston Manor.” Chilton’s voice abruptly hardened. “Right little bitch, she was. Didn’t know when to stop struggling.”

  “Never say that some poor little companion actually took a notion to refuse your elegant lovemaking techniques, Chilton.”

  “Got her comeuppance, she did.” Chilton seemed oblivious of the sarcasm that dripped in Miranda’s voice. “Lady Ralston found us together in the linen closet. She dismissed the stupid little creature out of hand, of course.”

  “I don’t care to hear the details of your conquest of a paid companion,” Miranda said coldly. She had her temper back under control.

  “No references, naturally,” Chilton added with vindictive satisfaction. “Doubt if she ever got another post. Probably starving in some workhouse by now.”

  Emma was shaking violently, and her breathing was as tight as the fists she had clenched at her sides. Fear or rage? he wondered again. Something told him it was the latter. He began to worry that she would fling open the wardrobe door and confront Crane. It might prove entertaining, but he could not allow it. Such a move would not only bring disaster down on her, it would ruin his own plans.