With This Ring Read online

  Beatrice grinned. “I knew you would find a way to turn the situation to advantage.”

  “It was really very kind of him to offer to assist us in this matter. And we know he will be extremely discreet.”

  “I’m absolutely certain we can count on his discretion.” After all, Beatrice thought, Leo wanted to recover the Forbidden Rings as badly as she and her relatives did. He would do nothing to jeopardize the investigation.

  Her reverie was interrupted by Pearson Burnby’s pleasant, well-modulated voice echoing in the hall. Arabella’s light, lilting laughter followed.

  Winifred glanced toward the doorway. Then she looked at Beatrice. “I fear that she really does love him, you know.”

  Beatrice was startled by the fleeting wistfulness in her aunt’s usually serious gaze. “Yes, I know. We must hope that she will not be disappointed.”

  “Unfortunately, she has taken you as her model.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “I have explained to her that few women enjoy the luxury of the sort of marriage you had. It is so rare to contract an alliance based on A perfect harmony of the physical and metaphysical.. But her optimism is quite unquenchable.”

  A perfect harmony of the physical and metaphysical From out of nowhere, the memory of Leo’s kiss crashed through Beatrice. It had been five days since the night he had taken her into his arms, but she still experienced a strangely exhilarating thrill every time she recalled it.

  The sensation was dangerous. She reminded herself again that he had not been impelled by passion or romance the night he had crushed her mouth beneath his. He had, in fact, been in a temper. Also, he had drunk a great quantity of brandy to subdue the pain in his shoulder. She knew only too well that gentlemen sometimes relied upon strong spirits to arouse desire where there was none.

  It was also true that there had been no more kisses on the trip back to London. Leo had been all that was proper on the journey. She suspected that he regretted what had happened between them that night in his library.

  No, she must not read too much into that one embrace.

  What worried her the most was that during those scorching moments in his arms, she had been caught up in a maelstrom of overheated sensation that overshadowed anything any of her heroines had ever experienced.

  When she had assured Leo that his kiss had been nothing less than inspiring, she had been telling him the literal truth. There would be no more polite, tepid descriptions of affection in her next novel. In the future when one of her heroines kissed one of her heroes, sparks would shoot straight off the page. That was one of the great things about being an authoress—no experience was wasted.

  The critics who accused her of writing overwrought and overheated prose had not seen anything yet, she thought. The reviews of her next book would no doubt prove quite interesting.

  “Well, I suppose I had best go into the parlor.” Winifred rose. “I’ve left those two on their own long enough. Timing is everything in these affairs. Young people must see just enough of each other alone to elevate their interest, but not enough to bring on boredom.”

  Beatrice waited until her aunt had left the study before she unfolded the note she had received. She read it again, anticipation racing through her. Leo would be amazed by her cleverness. The thought of impressing him elevated her spirits.

  Mrs. Cheslyn appeared again in the doorway. This time her usually forbidding expression was even more rigid.

  “Beg pardon, ma’am,” she roared. “His lordship, the Earl of Monkcrest, is here to see you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Cheslyn. You may show him in.”

  “He’s two hours early, Mrs. Poole.”

  “Show him in here, please.”

  “I was told he wouldn’t be here until five.”

  “Yes, I know. Do not concern yourself, Mrs. Cheslyn.”

  “How do ye expect me to manage this household with all these unscheduled comings and goings?”

  “I said, I will see his lordship now.”

  Leo loomed behind Mrs. Cheslyn. “I believe I may consider myself suitably announced.”

  Mrs. Cheslyn twisted around to peer up at him. “Oh, there ye are, m’lord. I was just comin’ to fetch ye. Well, seein’ as yer here two hours early, I’ll make up another tea tray.”

  “Thank you.”

  Leo strode into the study as Mrs. Cheslyn took herself off to the kitchens.

  Beatrice’s heart leaped at the sight of him. She had been anticipating this moment for two days, curious to see if he would appear somehow less fascinating in the fashionable environs of Town than he had in the wilds of Devon.

  She saw at once that if anything, he looked even more exotic and intriguing here amid the trappings of civilization.

  The atmosphere of the abbey suited him. The fashionably furnished town house, on the other hand, was not his natural habitat. It was as if she had transported a wolf from its dark, rocky lair into her cheerful, sunny study.

  His hair was brushed casually back behind his ears in a manner that emphasized the fact that it was a bit overlong for the current fashion. His white cravat was tied with elegant simplicity in a style that made the more flamboyant designs of the dandies appear ridiculous. It was clear that neither his breeches nor his excellently cut coat required any padding to add an appearance of strong, well-proportioned muscularity.

  But even if he had been dressed in rags, he would have dominated the room, Beatrice thought. He would still have managed to make everything around him appear bland and frivolous.

  “I got your note, Mrs. Poole.”

  The ice in his voice brought her up short. Heat rose in her cheeks. Leo bore the epithet of Mad Monk, but he was an earl, after all. One did not order earls about as if they were common tradesmen. She must bear that in mind in the future.

  She rose quickly and made a proper curtsy. “My sincerest regrets if I seemed a bit peremptory, my lord. The matter is of some urgency. When I explain, I’m sure you will comprehend why I did not wish to put it off until our five o’clock appointment.”

  He raised his brows, not particularly mollified by her display of manners. “I’m listening.”

  Beatrice suppressed a tiny sigh as she sat down again. She hoped she would soon become more accustomed to having him around the house.

  It was disconcerting to feel this surge of intense awareness every time he entered the room. She certainly could not continue to behave as if she were one of the heroines in her own novels.

  Think of him as a source of literary inspiration, she told herself sternly. For heaven’s sake, do not think of him as a potential lover.

  “My lord, won’t you please be seated?” she said. “I am sorry I alarmed you. I did not mean for you to come here in such an agitated rush.”

  “I am not agitated.” He gave her a derisive smile. “I am irritated.”

  “Again, I am sorry for the summary way in which I, uh, summoned you.”

  Ignoring her invitation to sit, he stalked to the window. “What the devil is this about?” He jerked a piece of paper out of the pocket of his coat and read the words aloud. “An event of great import has occurred. I cannot set the details down in writing….”

  Beatrice cleared her throat. “Perhaps my wording was somewhat melodramatic.”

  “That is putting it mildly. If this is an example of your literary skills, you could give the infamous Mrs. York some competition.”

  Beatrice froze. “Whenever I am seized by the notion that I ought to apologize to you, sir, you contrive to say just the right thing to convince me that I need not bother.”

  “Enough.” His mouth curved wryly. “We have not been in each other’s company for five minutes and already we are snapping at each other. What is this event that is of such monumental importance that I was obliged to postpone my plans for this afternoon?”

  She brought her temper under control with an effort. “I merely thought that you might like to know that the proprietress of the establishmen
t where Uncle Reggie died has agreed to meet with me.”

  He looked at her as if she had just announced that she could fly. “I beg your pardon?”

  Satisfied with the impact she had made, Beatrice allowed her bubbling excitement to rise to the surface. “Madame Virtue and I have an appointment. I intend to ask her some questions about what transpired on the night of my uncle’s death.”

  “Hell’s teeth.” Leo stared at her. “You actually contacted her?”

  “Yes. Discreetly, of course.”

  “Discreetly? I doubt that you know the meaning of the word.”

  Beatrice chose to pretend she had not heard that. “In her note she suggests that we meet in a park not far from here at four o’clock. It occurred to me that you might wish to be present when I make my inquiries. However, if you have something vastly more important to do, I shall deal with the matter alone.”

  Leo walked to the desk and planted both hands on the gleaming surface. “I thought we agreed that I would conduct this investigation.”

  “No, my lord, we agreed that we would be partners in our inquiries.”

  “Bloody hell. Respectable women do not meet with brothel keepers,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Calm yourself, Monkcrest. It is not as though I am going to knock on the front door of the House of the Rod and present my card. Madame Virtue intends to meet with me incognito. I, too, intend to go veiled to the location of the meeting.”

  “This is outrageous. One misstep and your reputation will be in shreds.”

  “I assure you I am quite capable of taking care of both myself and my reputation.”

  It was only Mrs. York’s reputation that required protection, Beatrice reflected. One of the great advantages of using a pseudonym was that it allowed her to maintain the freedom her widowhood had brought her. As Mrs. Poole she could get away with a great deal that would ruin Mrs. York.

  She had learned that lesson all too well when she had watched Society turn its back on the great Byron because of his outrageous behavior. Beatrice had realized then and there that the public would likely be even more harsh to a female writer who embroiled herself in a scandal.

  “Does your aunt know of this insane scheme of yours?” Leo demanded.

  “No, she does not. She is aware that we are searching for the Rings, of course, but I thought it best not to plague her with the details.”

  “Lucky aunt.”

  Beatrice glared. “My aunt is seventy years old. She has her hands full dealing with Arabella’s social schedule. I do not want to cause her any concern.”

  “Kind of you to spare her. I could have done very nicely without learning of your plans also. I don’t suppose you gave any thought to my peace of mind when you concocted this plan.”

  It was too much. Beatrice leaped to her feet and faced him across the width of her desk. “I have had quite enough of your foul temper, sir. You appear to be completely oblivious of the incredible opportunity I have made for us.”

  “Ignorance would certainly have been bliss. Unfortunately, I am no longer blithely unaware of your intentions. And I assure you, there is not a chance in hell that I will allow you to meet with Madame Virtue alone.”

  “If you’re going to be unpleasant, Monkcrest, I will not allow you to accompany me.”

  Leo leaned closer until their faces were only inches apart. “I know that I will regret this until the crack of doom, but I will most definitely accompany you on this incredibly foolish errand.”

  The dangerous softness of his voice stirred the hair on the back of her arms.

  “I was under the impression that you had more important things to do,” she said very sweetly.

  “They will keep.”

  “No need to put them aside on my account.”

  Leo’s jaw was rigid. “I said, they will keep.”

  “Lord Monkcrest.” Winifred hurried into the study. She looked flustered. “Mrs. Cheslyn just informed me that you had called. Beatrice dear, did you send for tea?”

  Leo and Beatrice, still confronting each other over the desk, both turned their heads to look at her.

  “Oh, dear.” Winifred came to an abrupt halt and looked from one tense face to the other. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Whatever gave you that notion?” Leo straightened with languid grace. “I have just invited Mrs. Poole to go driving a bit earlier than we had planned this afternoon. I wish to show her the new fountain in the park.”

  Winifred glanced at Beatrice. “I see.”

  “She has been kind enough to agree to an earlier departure.” Leo’s smile was all teeth and no reassurance. “Is that not correct, Mrs. Poole?”

  Beatrice eyed him grimly. He was well aware that she could not continue the argument in front of Winifred without explaining everything to her. “How could I possibly resist such a gallant offer, my lord? At my age, one gets so few of them.”

  Chapter 7

  She sensed the apparition watching her from the gloom-filled passageway, but every time she held the lantern aloft, it disappeared.

  FROM CHAPTER SEVEN OF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK

  Leo was still feeling grim as he guided the phaeton’s team along a little-used park path. But even through his brooding irritation he was fiercely aware of the satisfaction he felt at having Beatrice beside him.

  One question had been answered. Two days apart from her had done nothing to weaken the effect her presence had on him.

  She was elegantly dressed in a stylish hunter-green gown and a lighter green pelisse. The snug, long-sleeved, high-waisted bodice was trimmed with a modest ruff. She carried a green, fringed parasol. The matching hat was a rakish little confection adorned with a dark green veil that obscured her features and lent her a dashing air of mystery. As if any additional theatrics were necessary, he thought.

  He was aware that she was enjoying the adventure.

  “You certainly managed to select a singularly remote location for this meeting.” Leo eyed the densely wooded landscape on either side of the path. “It would appear that no one has driven this way in months.”

  “I told you, Madame Virtue suggested this place.” Beatrice studied the approaching bend in the path. “She said I was to watch for a small folly that someone built here years ago.”

  “There it is.” The sleekly muscled hindquarters of the matched grays bunched as Leo eased the horses to a walk. “Ahead on the left. In the middle of that grove.”

  Beatrice peered through her heavy veil. “Yes, I see it. How interesting. Odd, I never knew it was here. I wonder how old it is.”

  The folly was an artistically designed “ruin” of an ancient classical temple. It was, Leo thought, just the sort of frivolous architectural garden monstrosity that the older generation had delighted in producing. He studied the fanciful pillars that framed the small domed structure.

  “My grandfather built something even more Gothic for the park at Monkcrest.” he said. “Remind me to show it to you someday.”

  It was the swift, surprised manner in which Beatrice turned her head to look at him that made Leo realize the implications of what he had just said. Remind me to show it to you someday. As if they would continue their association after they had finished with the matter of the Rings.

  Well, why not? The possibilities burned in his brain, tantalizing and fascinating. Beatrice was proving to be an extremely difficult female, but she was also unusual and highly intriguing.

  If he was fortunate enough to survive their venture together with his sanity intact, there would be little more to risk by having an affair with her.

  The notion was oddly cheering. He wondered how she would look upon such an offer. She had made it plain that she felt they should refrain from an intimate connection until the business of the Rings was finished. But she had responded with unmistakable passion to his kiss. What would she say if he were to ask her to enter into a liaison?

  “Look, there is a small black curricle behind the folly.” Beatrice’s v
oice rose with excitement. “It must belong to Madame Virtue. Thank heavens. I was afraid she would not put in an appearance. I have so many questions for her.”

  Her enthusiasm deepened his morose mood. At the moment, Beatrice was clearly not occupied with any thoughts of a future affair. Perhaps it was time that he, too, paid attention to the matter at hand.

  He brought the phaeton to a halt, alighted, and quickly secured the grays. That done, he reached up to lift Beatrice down from the box. She felt firm, vibrant, and full of vitality in his hands. He wanted to tighten his grasp around her waist and pull her hard against him.

  “Monkcrest?” She sounded surprisingly breathless. She looked up at him through the veil. “You’re squeezing me. Is something wrong?”

  He realized that he had his hands locked very tightly around her slim waist. “Nothing beyond the obvious. I beg your pardon.” Very carefully he set her on her feet and released her.

  She looked past him toward the artificial ruin. “That lady waiting on the bench inside the folly must be Madame Virtue. Heavens. She is attired from head to foot in black. She must have suffered a recent bereavement.”

  Leo turned to see a blond woman gowned and veiled in unrelieved black. She was seated on a marble bench just inside the temple. Her head was bent gracefully over a leather-bound book open on her lap.

  Even from his vantage point Leo could discern that the cut of the black carriage gown was the creation of a very expensive modiste. It molded Madame Virtue’s tall, slim figure in a manner that was both elegant and discreetly provocative. The black satin brim on the veiled hat was a striking contrast to her pale hair. Black gloves and black kid half-boots completed her attire.

  All in all, the proprietress of the House of the Rod could have set the fashion among the elite of the ton on Bond Street or in the park that afternoon.

  He took Beatrice’s arm. “Something tells me that she did not choose to wear black because she is in mourning.”

  “But it is very unusual to wear quite so much of it.”

  “Madame Virtue is in an unusual profession.”