CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
He leaned back a little, surveying her. “You look pale, my dear Rosina. Have you been unwell?”
“I do not wish to discuss my health with you, sir. Why are you here?”
Forteviot spread his hands. “But why do you suppose? I had hoped to see Raith, but I dare say you will do.”
Rosina’s pulses stirred, and she walked across to the fireplace and gripped the mantel. She must not let him succeed in what she knew to be a deliberate intent to unsettle her. She turned to look at him again. “Pray, what is it you want, sir?”
The sneer became pronounced. “My poor innocent, did you imagine, because you have heard nothing from me for a week and more, that I had abandoned my purpose? I regret that I must disappoint you. I have been revisiting the scene of our first meetings, Rosina.”
A shiver shook her. “You mean you have been to see Herbert Cambois?”
“It was necessary. The man is unreliable, to say the least. Do you know, the fool had done almost nothing to find you? I rather regretted having left the matter in his hands when I saw the announcement of your marriage.”
Had she not known it would be her undoing? But a creeping sensation of dismay began to invade her as she recognised the implication of his words. Had he spoken with her guardian before he came here?
“At first I thought he had played me false, perhaps received a higher price for you from Raith, unlikely as that seems, I admit. Happily, as we discovered, it was but a fortuitous accident.”
“Fortuitous?” She bit her lip, a riot of conjecture in her head. “How so? How do you know anything of it?”
He smiled in that smug fashion. “The trail was most interesting. One of the housemaids was able to point the way.”
“Aggie! You fiend, what did you do to her?”
Forteviot laughed. “Nothing very much. Threats were sufficient, I assure you. The rest was easy. I had primed my good friend before I left. Armed with new knowledge, I came straight on here.”
The whole hideous plot unravelled as if Rosina read it in a book. They had planned this, Forteviot and her guardian together.
“You will appreciate how important it was that Cambois held to the facts I had outlined. Hence the need to visit him again. But my anxiety was relieved. He has not failed of his part.”
“You relieve my mind.”
“Oh, bravo, Rosina! Your sarcasm is almost worthy of my own. But I fear it is an empty triumph. You will no doubt know that Cambois has sustained a visit from your husband’s lawyer.”
Rosina had known it, and guessed Ottery had given her spouse an unfavourable account. What else from her erstwhile guardian’s lips? But she had not then thought it had been a concerted plan between the two of them.
“You will thus be scarce surprised to hear your tale is told,” he pursued, in that feline manner that set her teeth on edge. “Anton was already shaken by my testimony. Though I must say his efforts to retain his faith in you were quite touching, and of better use than I had supposed.”
What was he at now? “I do not understand you.”
The smile grew, and Forteviot moved a little closer, purring. “How should you? Your naivety could never appreciate my cunning. There was always the possibility I might lose the game, for he could choose to set you aside.”
“How do you know he will not?”
“I don’t,” he admitted, with no diminution of the smugness that so much disgusted her. “If he does, I can always use you as I first intended.”
The hot words left her lips without intent, spoken from the heart. “Over Raith’s dead body!”
Forteviot laughed gently, and she instantly regretted her outburst. “Precisely. Anton Raith’s mawkish sentimentality is likely to induce him to keep you, whether or no he believed me. Which means, my dear, I shall have my money from him, or raise a scandal about his ears.”
Rosina heard him with a dawning sense of horror. Anton had given in to his need of her, which meant he must feel committed to the marriage, no matter what. Forteviot meant to profit by it. Cambois also?
“How did you enlist my guardian’s help? Is he to receive a cut of the proceeds for his pains?”
“How clever of you to guess.”
“You vile creature! You intended all along to convince Anton of my guilt. You knew he must be hurt by the story becoming known. You knew of his past sufferings at his brother’s hands, and now you will play upon his chivalry to undo him. You are despicable.”
Forteviot’s thin smile creased his lips, and sarcasm was in his voice. “Am I? How dreadful. The reflection, I am happy to say, is unlikely to deprive me of sleep.”
She wanted to slap his smug face. But she must deny herself that pleasure. The resolve was forming even as she spoke. Cost what it might, she would not allow this man to harm Anton. Pride came to her rescue.
“Rest assured my husband will be informed. Now go, if you please.”
Forteviot’s smile broadened. “By all means. I have done what I came to do. Tell Raith I will come tomorrow, to collect his note of hand.”
The first thing Raith became aware of was the too-bright light. He groaned and closed his eyes again, putting a hand to the dull ache at his brow. He was conscious next of thirst. There was a familiarity about his symptoms, and their meaning crept into awareness.
Hell and the devil! Had he been drinking too deeply again? The sound of drapes being drawn, and a soft footfall indicated the presence of his valet.
“Paulersbury — water!”
“Very good, my lord.”
Raith cautiously opened his eyes again. The room was a trifle less bright.
Paulersbury had evidently divined his condition, for he had half-drawn the drapes once more across the windows.
It must have been the opening of them that had woken Raith.
He made an effort to raise himself upon the pillows and made the discovery that he was unclothed.
He cursed. Had he been so far gone he had been unable to put on his night gear? No, for Paulersbury had readied him for bed last night as usual. Then —
His thoughts checked on an impossible notion.
Rosina! The vague image of tangled limbs and tempestuous kisses erupted into a full-blown remembrance.
Raith hissed in a breath on the intensity of it.
Was it remembrance? Had he dreamed again?
His heart twisted. Could he have imagined the sweet abandon of his wife’s surrender?
An echo of her voice came back to him: Give me a memory that I may cherish. Oh, Rosy.
He threw himself up, and was obliged to clutch at his head at the instant protest therein. Through narrowed eyes, he took in the rumple of the bedclothes. She had been with him! An impulse of memory made him throw the covers back. He stared at the spots of red upon the sheets. His eyes pricked.
“Your water, my lord.”
Instinct made Raith fling the bedclothes over the evidence. A second later he realised that his valet would have discovered it in any event. But nothing, thankfully, need be said. The sheets would be discreetly changed. He took the glass and emptied its contents.
Then he saw the note.
It was lying on the pillow near where her head must have lain. An instant premonition of disaster struck him. Rosy, sweetheart, no. Not now.
He barely had courage to reach out for the folded sheet. A dull thudding started up in his chest. With fingers that shook slightly, he spread it open.
My lord — could she so address him still, after last night? — my enemy has been here this day.
Forteviot! What in thunder had the villain said to her?
A scandal — but he had threatened it before.
It was not news that his hints had been deliberate.
Had he not been persuaded of the scoundrel’s intent to blacken Rosina’s name to him?
So it was a plot between Forteviot and her guardian. Ottery had been right.
But as he read the final sentences penned by the waif whom he had failed dismally to cherish as he had promised, he had no thought of Forteviot or Cambois.
I tell you this because I would not wish you to be in mystery as to why I am gone. I cannot bear to bring you these distresses. Pray, Anton, let me go. It is better that we part. Mr Ottery will know what to do to make it right. I will remember always — Rosy.
Remember? Did she imagine he could forget? Let her go? Rosina, were you mad? Rather than lose her, he would endure ten thousand scandals. But where was she now? How long had she been gone? Perhaps she had not already left.
Urgency threw him out of bed, and he staggered. Leaping to his aid, the valet caught him. “Take care, my lord!”
Raith steadied himself, driven by necessity, and shook the man off. “I am all right. Fetch me a bucket of water so that I may dip my head in it.”
Shifting away, he drew on the robe Paulersbury was holding out, and made unsteadily for his wife’s bedchamber, throwing open the four doors that lay in his way.
The room was empty. But a cursory glance about the dressing room showed him that a hasty departure had been made.
Drawers and doors were open, their contents poking forth, a clutter of garments upon the floor.
Raith strode through to the bedchamber and tugged on the bell-pull, his eyes raking the room. The bed was made, and there were no further signs in here. The ache at his head intensified, and he was obliged to hold to one of the bedposts as he attempted to make his way back to the dressing room.
He was engaged in sifting through one of the presses, trying to reckon up which gowns Rosina might have taken, when he was disturbed by the maid Joan.
“My lord!” she gasped, bobbing a curtsy from the doorway to the bedchamber.
“When did her ladyship leave?”
Joan looked blank. “I — I don’t rightly know, my lord.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“But I don’t know, my lord. Last I saw she went down to see that there Lord Forteviot, and —”
“You have not seen her since?”
“No, my lord.”
Raith’s heart sank. He moved away from the closet and waved at the maid. “Are any gowns missing? Quickly, girl!”