CHAPTER 13
Gareth gazed down at Eva’s face and tangled hair.
Her expression looked ethereal in the soft northern light.
Dawn had broken two hours ago, and he had risen to wash and dress.
Fresh water waited for her in the dressing room.
He would not have minded staying abed with her until she emerged from her dreams, but he assumed she would be more comfortable being alone in the bright light of day.
He left the chamber and descended the stairs, listing the various matters he had intended to address today.
One involved riding back toward Chatsworth, and calling on two local estates near enough to Devonshire’s properties to suggest someone at them might have awareness of the history of the paintings once stored there.
At best now he could leave in two days. It might take that long to help Eva put her house back in order and swear information about the intrusion.
The letter to Ives would have to wait as well, but it needed to be sent soon.
Ives’s own letter had come yesterday, and his queries indicated someone, or rather Someone, had pressed him in turn for information.
Ives had never said the Prince Regent had requested this investigation, but Gareth assumed that was the Someone behind it all.
Annoyingly absent from that letter had been any news regarding Lance, the investigation, and status of the inquiry into Percy’s death.
His concentration on duties not being accomplished kept thoughts of the night at bay until he entered the kitchen and found coffee already made.
He strode to the garden door and looked out.
Harold had come, on his own and without Erasmus, unbidden.
He labored on the wall, hoisting stones into place, finishing the work that Gareth had started himself yesterday.
Gareth’s mind snapped to the woman sleeping above.
Damn.
He paced the kitchen, thinking fast. Of course, he should have thought it all through last night, fast or slow, so long as he thought at all. He cursed himself soundly, but even as he did, all the old rationalizations for ignoring the rules leapt forward.
Gentlemen did not seduce innocent ladies, even if those innocents threw themselves at said gentlemen—supposedly.
That he could name important gentlemen who had did not matter.
That he had been taught this by his own father who had bedded a virgin he could not and would not ever marry made the lesson all the more comical.
Not to mention he was not, officially, a gentleman.
He was a nonperson, and if there was any benefit to being one it should be that he did not have to give a damn about any gentlemen’s rules.
Yet here he was, with a lady up in his bed, and her reputation in his hands.
He watched Harold. Big, brawny, and blond, Harold moved methodically with the stones.
He would probably finish by noon. Harold was supposed to be serving, when he served at all, as a house servant, as valet and manservant, not doing hard labor.
Yet there he was, proving his worth at a most inconvenient moment.
Better Harold than Erasmus. With Erasmus, Eva’s name would be on every harpy’s lips by tomorrow. Erasmus’s tendency to gossip had been handy, but there were times when discretion called. Like right now.
He ran his fingers through his hair, and opened the garden door. He mounted the stairs to the garden, and walked down to where Harold worked.
Harold broke off and took the opportunity to wipe his face and hands with a rag tucked in his shirt.
“I did not expect you today,” Gareth said.
Harold nodded. “You said you started to rebuild this yourself. Mentioned it while I served dinner yesterday. I thought it better if I took care of it. No reason for us both to have bad hands.”
Gareth all but smoothed his palm over his face, to see just how bad his hands had become that Harold felt obligated to intercede. Had Eva noticed?
“Good of you,” Gareth said. “I am glad you are here. There has been a small disaster, and I need your help.”
Harold frowned, and set down the stone he had just lifted.
“It requires absolute discretion,” Gareth continued. “I am sure that when you were in the army, there were times when you were called upon to keep silent about important matters.”
“Many times. Not only military matters. My officer had private things I would learn about, seeing as how I served him. I know how to keep my mouth shut, sir, if that is what you are asking.”
“It is. I know you hope to be a valet someday, either mine or another man’s. It is much like with your officer. If a valet’s discretion cannot be trusted, he is worthless.”
“No one will hear of this disaster, sir. Not even Erasmus, who has a loose tongue, if you hear me. He is a good friend, but he does like to talk too much.”
Gareth could only hope Harold was good to his word. “Last night near dusk, Miss Russell returned home to find someone had invaded her home, destroying much of it. The intruder may have still been there. She thought he was. She ran here for protection.”
Harold’s eyes widened. “Miss Russell? Was she harmed? If one hair on her head was touched, I’ll kill the man if I find him.
The world has gone to hell, if I may say so, sir, if a woman cannot feel safe in her own home.
I am undone, sir, undone by this news. Not a small disaster at all, but a very big and shocking one. ”
“Yes, well, it being night, and there being no alternative, she stayed here so she would be safe. She is upstairs in the chamber that has the new bed I just bought. You can see the problem we face, I am sure.”
Of course Harold could see it. Other than one sharp, suspicious glance, he spent the next few minutes ruminating, scratching his head, and staring at the wall.
“I am not one for strategy, sir. No one made me an officer, after all. But I think it best if when she speaks to the magistrate, it not be mentioned that she stayed here. My silence will count for nothing if the magistrate starts talking, and if he does, she can be ruined for nothing more than refusing to risk herself to the criminals among us these days.”
“My thoughts exactly. She took the sensible course, but she will have to pretend she took the stupid one and did not come and inform me of this until this morning.”
“I can go and alert the magistrate. He most likely will not get to her house for a couple of hours, since he lives on the other side of town. If you escort Miss Russell back—”
“That is a fine strategy. Perhaps you should start off now, and Miss Russell will wait for the magistrate at her home.”
Harold’s expression assumed a military solidity. “Just one thing that might complicate the plan, sir. Miss Russell—will she lie? She might refuse to do that, being the sort of woman she is.”
“I will try to convince her of the necessity.”
Harold headed for the garden portal. Gareth aimed back to the house. Miss Russell had better not balk at lying. Surely she would see the sense of it.
He returned to the bedchamber. Eva was up and he heard her in the dressing room.
He left and walked across the house to the only other bedchamber with an actual bed.
He pulled back the coverlet, mussed the sheets, and even gave the mattress a few good thumps with his ass to make it look slept on.
He mussed a towel in the dressing room, then threw it on the floor for effect.
Deciding the chambers would convince Harold that good Miss Russell had spent all her time there, he went looking for the lady in question.
He found her dressed and tidy in the bedchamber.
She sat on a chair, looking calm but perhaps a little confused.
All the same he thought she looked adorable.
Pretty and pert and alluring in spite of herself.
She appeared completely capable of deciding she wanted a man and telling him so, which was not the Eva Russell the world knew.
It was probably not the Eva Russell she knew.
Lest the awkwardness grow, he strode over, lifted her into his arms, and gave her a kiss. She blushed.
“I trust that is not embarrassment,” he said, caressing her pink cheek. “If so, I’ll not have it.”
“Of course not. No embarrassment and no regrets, just as I promised. I do feel a little strange, as if I am slowly waking up from a vivid dream.” She toed at the carpet. “We were more than a little mad last night, weren’t we?”
“Insanely so.”
“Utterly mad.”
“Yes.”
Her arms angled out in a hapless gesture. “I think everyone should allow themselves to be mad at least once, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
She felt at her hair. She straightened her sleeves. “I should return home. I look a fright. I did not even have a brush with me.”
He had not noticed. He did not think she looked a fright at all.
The morning light made her skin appear flawless, and her changeable eyes showed as blue right now.
She appeared ravishing despite her sensible dress.
As for her hair, he could not see it without thinking how silken it felt against his skin.
“I should return home,” she said again. “I need to—do many things.”
“I will take you. I sent Harold for the magistrate. You need to let him see what happened, so he can alert other homeowners to be cautious and try to find the culprit.”
“Harold—” Her gaze shot to the bed.
“It is well he was here. I would not want you to wait on the magistrate alone while I went for him. Have no fear that Harold saw you. He did not enter the house. He does know you stayed here, however, but I believe he will be discreet.”
That appeased her, mostly. Her growing acknowledgment of her danger could be seen in her eyes, however.
“If he is not discreet, it will not matter if I stayed in a locked chamber all night or if I ran from my house with a murderer after me. I can bear the scandal myself, but I fear it will ruin my sister’s chances. ”
“There will be no scandal.”