Chapter 10

Ten

T he shadow angled across the pillow, revealing that the morning was quickly advancing toward noon. Still half asleep, Alex winced as he sat up and ran a hand through his tangled locks. A dull ache throbbed at his temples, and no amount of rubbing seemed able to banish the nagging discomfort. It took a moment for his gaze to focus on the trail of his discarded clothing scattered across the floor, and the rumpled disorder of the bedding, where the faint scent of their passion still clung to the sheet. A low oath slipped out from between his gritted teeth as the details of the previous night came flooding back. No wonder he felt like the devil. It was a long fall from Heaven to Hell.

Aurora.

There was no sign of life from within her room. A second look around showed that the hearth lay cold, the larder had not been opened and the table had not yet been righted onto its rickety legs. Fighting off a sense of foreboding, he stumbled to his feet and tugged on his breeches. Then, heedless of his bare calves and chest, he crossed to the closed door and gave an urgent knock.

“Aurora?”

He called again, softly but with an edge of concern. Still nothing. After a slight hesitation, he undid the latch and entered.

“Damnation!”

This time the word echoed off the thick stones with the force of a pistol shot. Every item she possessed was gone. Pausing only long enough to yank on his boots and snatch up his shirt, he raced outside and headed toward the river. Perhaps she was merely tidying up, he told himself, yet the suggestion rang hollow. He had covered only a short distance when his steps slowed, then came to a dead halt. There was but a single horse tethered in the meadow. The mount that Jack had purchased a few days ago was nowhere to be seen. For a few moments he stood and simply stared out at the rippling meadow grasses and low lying bushes of gorse. It was impossible to deny the truth of it any longer.

She had left. And he had no idea where she had gone.

Forcing himself to turn back toward the cottage, Alex tried to sort out what options lay open to him. It took precious little time for his jaw to tighten. Actually, there were none. Given her headstart, Aurora could be at any number of coaching inns, or already on her way south. He could hardly begin to search the entire southwest corner of Scotland, not with Whitehall expecting immediate delivery of the documents he held and a full report on the mission.

Duty demanded that he make all haste for London. Once he had exchanged the rank of Major for the title of Earl, he would be free to make his own choices. That is, if he could figure out just who he really was and what he really wanted.

A gust had blown the heavy oak door shut. He reached out, but instead of taking hold of the iron latch, his fist slammed into the rough wood with as much force as he could muster. The bloodied knuckles and splintered skin only served to remind him that physical pain was not nearly as difficult to bear as what he was feeling inside.

Miss Robertson pushed her spectacles back to the bridge of her nose and regarded the state of her former charge’s appearance. “Well, if you don’t look just like something the cat dragged in and spent half the night making sport with.”

It was an unfortunate analogy. Aurora’s lower lip quivered slightly as she tucked a loose tendril behind her ear and tossed her dusty reticule onto the top of her desk. “How kind of you to point it out,” she snapped. “But given my current mood, if Homer—or any other male beast—flexes his furried claws within a twenty paces of me I vow I shall kick his teeth in.”

The older woman made a sympathetic clucking sound. “Oh dear, were you forced to endure the company of a particularly vexing man for part of the journey?” She came over to plant a light kiss on Aurora’s wan cheek. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go off by yourself, especially after the Duchess’s coachman delivered that vague note announcing an unavoidable delay. However, you may put the experience all behind you now that you are back among friends. I am sure you will feel like a new lady after a hot bath and a slice of Alice’s apple tart.” Her ample arm went around the sagging shoulders. “Welcome home, my dear. ”

Aurora looked around the familiar little room and burst into tears.

“What do you mean you can’t find her!” The new Earl of Woodbridge was perilously close to shouting.

His man of affairs blotted the sheen of perspiration from his forehead with the cuff of his jacket. “Er, well, milord. Apparently no one ever informed either of us that she never took up residence at Rexford.”

“Never?”

The fellow gave a nervous swallow, then shook his head. “It appears not.”

“But she does receive the quarterly draft of funds?”

“Yes, milord. We haven’t yet tracked down exactly where it goes or how it gets there, but we are working on the matter.”

Alex paused in his pacing before the ornately carved mantel of his townhouse library. “Well, keep at it!” He raked a hand through his locks, achieving a result that would have caused his new valet to fall into a fit of vapors had he observed it. “In the meantime, Perkins, try sending a letter in the same manner as the money.” Under his breath he added, “Perhaps a penny stamp will prove more effective than the barrow full of blunt I am paying you and your minions.”

“An excellent suggestion, milord! I’ll get right on it.” Pouncing on the opportunity to make good his escape, the man bowed and scurried from the room.

Alex heaved a sigh, then moved to the massive claw footed desk and rang for his butler to usher in the last of his morning appointments.

“A Mister Swallow to see you, milord.” The starchy servant ended his words with a slight sniff, indicating what he thought of the sort of visitor the new earl was allowing to set foot in the polished halls of Woodbridge House. “Says he has been requested to make an appearance before you.”

“Show him in, Huggins.”

The sight of the stooped, reedy figure who shuffled his worn boots across the expensive Aubusson carpet was hard to reconcile with the assurances he had received that the man was the best that Bow Street had to offer. However, Alex had had a good deal of experience in judging the true merits of a man. As soon as the fellow turned his sharp gaze from the expensive appointments of the room to meet that of his prospective employer, the new earl caught sight of the intelligence lurking within the half closed eyes and was encouraged.

“G’day, m’lord.” The Runner twisted a greasy cap between his fingers. “Colonel Wilbourne seems te think I may of use t’you.”

“I’m told you have some skill at tracking down a missing person, no matter how slight the clues,” demanded Alex without any preamble

The man didn’t waver under the earl’s piercing stare “Aye. If there’s breath left in a body, I’ll find yer man.”

Alex motioned for the man to step closer to the desk. Unfolding a large map, drawn to scale, he took up a piece of string tied to a pen. After dipping the nib in red ink, he held one end of the string down on the center of London, then inscribed a bold circle atop the fine lines and shadings. “That is a radius of 150 miles from Town,” he said, tossing the implements aside. “You will follow that path, stopping at every blasted town or village or hamlet if you must, until you discover the location of the Sprague Agency for Distressed Females.”

The Runner’s sharp features remained impassive, but his eyes took on a gleam of interest. “Hmmmm. Not quite yer ordinary butcher, baker or candlestick maker. I take it ye want me te locate this Sprague?”

“I do.”

“And?”

“Just find her.”

The man’s brow quirked up slightly at the use of the pronoun.

“The quickest way to get any information is to speak with a barmaid or charwoman or the like,” continued Alex. “Oh, and you had best pretend you are the loyal retainer of some persecuted female in need of some professional assistance. That’s the only way you will get them to talk.”

Mister Swallow scratched at his chin as he regarded the map. “Hmmm. It’s a weighty task.”

“It’s a weighty purse.” Alex tossed a heavy leather bag down next to the creased paper. “Inside is a note detailing the rest of the particulars. Can you handle the job, Mr. Swallow?”

A small smile creased the man’s thin lips. “What did this Sprague woman do—purloin the family jewels?”

Alex scowled. “I said, just find her, Mr. Swallow. Can you do that?”

“Oh, aye. And it sounds a mite more interesting than pursuing the usual murderer or embezzler.” He put the map in his pocket, along with the bulge of gold guineas. “Don’t worry, m’lord, I’ll find her. But it may take some time.”

“Then I suggest you waste not a minute more. There’s a hefty bonus in it you if the task is accomplished quickly.”

The Runner bobbed his head and made for the door without further delay.

“Damnation,” growled Alex after the man had left. He sat down and began to twist the ebony pen in his fingers, heedless of the spatter of scarlet that fell onto one cuff. There was nothing he could do now except wait.

“Good Lord! What’s wrong, Robbie?” demanded Aurora.

The former governess uttered another word that was definitely not taught in any schoolroom and looked up from the letter lying in her lap. “It’s from the Earl of Woodbridge.

For an instant there was a flicker of hope in Aurora’s eyes, though it died away just as quickly. Don’t be a fool, she chided herself. And a rather heartless one at that. Despite her joking, she did not truly wish for another person’s death. Besides, even if the current missive contained the news of her husband’s demise, it would not change things in the least.

She bent back over the report she was writing up for the Dutchess and feigned a casual indifference to the letter’s contents. “I thought my dear father-in-law had passed away some years ago.”

“He did.”

“So what does the current earl want?”

“Er …” Miss Robertson cleared her throat. “He wants to meet with his wife.”

“ What !” Abandoning all pretense of unconcern, Aurora bolted up from her chair and snatched the crested stationery from the folds of muslin.

The older woman’s hands knitted together in a tight ball as Aurora skimmed through the sheets of paper. “I had read that the eldest son was killed in carriage accident, but, well, I gave it little thought. The news of the next one’s death must have been printed during that little spell when we decided to forego the expense of the newspaper.” She watched the scowl on her former charge’s face became blacker with every sentence that was read. “Oh dear, what a bumblebroth! W-what do you intend to do, my dear?”

Aurora’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “Now that the preening prig is a high and mighty lord, it’s obvious he wishes to look elsewhere for a bride.” Her gaze fell down once more to the closely spaced lines of elegant copperplate script. “He wants his freedom, does he? Well, that suits me just fine, especially as he is willing to pay handsomely for it.” With a curt laugh she stuffed the letter into the pocket of her gown. “Come, Robbie, you have always said that you wished to visit London above all things. And so have I. Let’s start packing.”

Within the week, the two of them were comfortably settled in Town. The earl’s man of affairs had responded to Aurora’s quickly penned reply by arranging everything. An elderly Woodbridge aunt was away taking the cure at Bath and her townhouse was put at their disposal, along with a good deal more servants than Aurora or Miss Robertson considered necessary. Before either of them could think to demur, they were whisked off to a series of fittings with the most-sought after modiste in London, and a selection of open accounts at the finest shops on Bond Street were put at their disposal. When questioned, the man of affairs simply stated that he was following His Lordship’s specific orders.

“You have to admit that the current Lord Woodbridge appears not to be a nipcheese like his father. Or yours,” remarked Miss Robertson, fingering the soft wool of her new day gown as she watched yet another pile of boxes being carried up the marble stairs. “He has been most generous in insisting that we acquire a suitable wardrobe and other necessaries for our stay in Town.

Aurora glanced down at her own figured silk skirts. “You may be seduced by a few fripperies, Robbie,” she muttered. “But the rogue is going to have to cough up a good deal more than that if he wishes to get what he wants from me.”

The former governess’s cheeks turned quite pink. “Seduction is quite the furthest thought from my mind?—”

“From mine as well.” She grinned. “I am far more interested in the notion of extortion. How much do you think I should attempt to squeeze out of him this first time around?”

Miss Robertson gave a strangled cough. “My dear, pray do try to moderate your opinions somewhat when meeting your—that is, Lord Woodbridge for the first time. Surely it would help make things go as you wish if you make some attempt to be civil to the man.”

Aurora said something under her breath that the older woman did not ask her to repeat.

With a purse of her lips, Miss Robertson regarded her former charge’s rigid profile and the defiant tilt of her jaw. “Are you sure you do not wish for me to accompany you to the meeting? I?—”

“No, I prefer to go alone. There’s nothing to be concerned about. I can handle the situation just fine on my own.”

“Hmmph! As I recall, that’s what you said the last time you went haring off without me.”

Aurora had the grace to color slightly. “This is entirely different,” she muttered. “I am going to meet with my husband and his solicitors, not with?—”

“Not with some dashing, rakish Major with eyes the color of jewels?” Miss Robertson crossed her arms over her ample chest and gave another snort. “Hmmph! Well, let us hope there are not two such men on this earth who could have such an effect on your fluttering heart.”

“Oh, do stop sounding as if you are reading a passage from The Mysteries of Udolpho .” Aurora turned away to gaze out of the tall mullioned windows of the drawing room. “The Major had no effect on my heart, save to cause it to heat my blood to the boiling point.” She bit her lip. “With anger, of course.”

Miss Robertson refrained from making any direct reply and simply reached over to give Aurora a quick hug. A harried sigh followed. “Men! Detestable creatures!”

The slight tremble on Aurora’s lips turned into a laugh. “Oh, Robbie, whatever would I do without your stalwart support and keen sense of humor! She picked up her new reticule from the gilt sidetable. “But truly, you have no need to worry. I think my heart has learned its lesson regarding rakish soldiers. If the Earl of Woodbridge thinks he can use any sort of wiles on me, he had better think twice. He has no idea who he is up against.”

Alex took a deep breath and adjusted the precise folds of his cravat yet again. “She has arrived?”

“Yes, milord.” His man of affairs shifted the hefty portfolio of legal papers from one arm to another. “I have just brought her in to meet the fellow you had me hire to handle her part of the proceedings. I suppose we had best give them a few minutes to review the matter in private before we join them.”

Alex clasped his hands behind his back, then shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Perkins?”

“Yes, my lord.

“My experience as a soldier has taught me it is a wise thing to have engaged in some, er, reconnaissance before entering enemy territory.”

“Sir?”

This was damned awkward, he fumed to himself, but he couldn’t quite overcome a sudden curiosity. “Er, you are aware of the circumstances of my marriage, since you helped my father draw up the agreement. It was a long time ago, and I was not exactly in full possession of my faculties during our one meeting.” There was a fraction of a pause. “So tell me, is she … short and stout?”

The man coughed. ”Rather tall and slender.”

“Dark mousy hair?”

“Light, my lord. Not exactly blond, but …”

“Attractive?”

The man took a moment to extract a handkerchief from his pocket and dab at his forehead. “What one man may find?—”

“Don’t prevaricate, man. I wish an honest answer.”

“Yes. Quite.”

Alex twisted at the gold signet ring on his finger and muttered something under his breath. “One last question.”

A discreet knocked on the paneled door interrupted the earl’s words. Looking greatly relieved, Perkins swallowed hard and took hold of the polished brass knob. “I believe they are ready, milord.”

But am I? asked Alex as he followed the other man into the next room. It was not that he had any doubts as to whether his decision was the right one. It was just that now, after so many years of not giving a thought to the lady who bore his name, he found himself strangely nervous at the idea of coming face to face with her. Rather like a groom approaching the noose, he added with gallows humor, rather than one seeking to cut the knot that bound the two of them for life.

Her back was to him. Even from that angle, it was clear Perkins had not exaggerated her charms. His wife was indeed tall and willowy, with a mass of silky curls artfully arranged to spill down her back in a simple twist. The stylish cut of her emerald figured silk gown accentuated a slender waist, smoothly rounded shoulders and the graceful arc of her neck. Alex suddenly felt his throat constrict. The devil take it. She reminded him so much of certain other young lady that for an instant it was impossible to breathe.

His step faltered, and he gave a prolonged mental curse, chiding himself for being a complete and utter fool. The memory of Aurora seemed to haunt his every move these days. He heard her laugh in box at the Opera, recognized the exact shade of her hair in the shimmer of silk at a fancy ball, saw the shape of her chin in a Gainsborough painting over his mantel. And right now, he could swear he heard the soft whisper of her voice murmuring. …

This was insane. Alex fought to recover some measure of control. He must stop acting like a moonstruck halfling and concentrate on business. The business of sundering all ties with the stranger before him. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to speak in a firm voice.

“Perhaps, if Lady Woodbridge is ready, we might begin.”

He thought he detected a spasm run through her at his first words. Somehow, the idea that she might well be as nervous as he was helped ease some of the tension in his clenched jaw. “Mr. Perkins has provided you with a copy of the necessary legal papers and the proposed settlement.”

She turned to face him, and all at once, the rest of what he was saying was drowned out by an odd roaring sound that began in his ears and threatened to engulf the rest of his senses.

The silence in the room was deafening. Alex was aware that his lips had stopped moving, as had every other part of him. She, too, stood absolutely motionless, her emerald eyes mirroring the same shock and surprise that must have been evident in his own startled gaze.

Blithely unaware of the tension that had descended over the room, the other man of affairs put down his folder of documents on the large oaken table and pulled out a chair for his client. The rasp of its legs across the polished boards seemed to break the spell. Aurora quickly looked away and sat down without a word. Perkins slanted a look of concern at the earl before taking a place opposite the others. Somehow, the thought that the fashionable reticule looped around her wrist probably contained a new bottle of vinaigrette allowed Alex to gain his own chair without making a cake of himself by falling in a most unlordly swoon.

There was a rustle of papers. Several clerks appeared, armed with fresh foolscap, quills and ink. At a sign from Perkins, they seated themselves at either end of the long table. The advisor hired for Aurora, a distinguished looking older man by the name of Seymour, took a moment to clean his spectacles. As he did so, she leaned over and whispered something in his ear. His brows rose a fraction, but he nodded and turned to face his colleague.

“Before we begin, my client and I should like to clarify one rather basic fact. Mr. Perkins, can you vouch that the gentleman seated at your right is ….” Aurora repeated something in a low whisper. “… is indeed James Fenimore?”

Perkins nodded his assent. “Yes. Since I have known him from the time he was in leading strings, I can state unequivocally that this is James Hadley Alexander Fenimore. Third son of the late Deverall George Eustace Fenimore, the sixth earl of Woodbridge, and the lawfully wedded spouse of one Elizabeth Jane Aurora Sprague. Now a Fenimore herself, of course.”

Aurora’s lips compressed in a tight line and she leaned back in her chair without further comment.

Seymour shot a questioning look her way, but on receiving a curt gesture to proceed with things, he opened up his leather folder. “Lord Woodbridge, I have reviewed the proposal drafted by Mr. Perkins, and though there may be one or two minor points that I must discuss further with my client, I believe we are willing to cooperate fully with you?—”

A low snort that seemed to emanate from Aurora’s general vicinity cut him off him, but as she made no other sound, he cleared his throat and continued.

“Now, the legal grounds for annulment are, er, rather specific. It says here that the parties are not claiming that His Lordship is incapable of performing his marital duties?—”

This time there was no mistaking the source of the interruption. “No doubt there would be entirely too many of his close female acquaintances willing to step forward and testify to the contrary,” muttered Aurora under her breath, her eyes narrowing but still refusing to meet his.

Alex refrained from reaching out to throttle her.

Both Perkins and Seymour made a good deal of noise shuffling papers before the other man went on. “Rather, the basis for this petition to dissolve the marriage rests in the fact that it has never been consummated. Indeed, the documents further state that the couple has never passed the night together under the same roof.” He paused, then looked up, his features pinched with embarrassment. “Of course, there will have to be the, er, normal sort of examination?—”

“Perhaps we should consider changing the grounds for this proceeding,” interrupted Aurora once more, this time with a deceptively sweet smile. “Instead of asking for an annulment, His Lordship could always sue the courts for a divorce. On the grounds of adul?—”

“Gentlemen!” Alex’s hand slammed down upon the table with a resounding bang. “If you don’t mind, I wish to have a few words in private with my wife.”

“That will not be necessary, sir.” To emphasis her point, Aurora took firm hold of Mr. Seymour’s sleeve.

“In private,” he repeated, his voice rising several decibels.

Perkins was already half way to the door, the clerks right on his heels. Delayed by the need to extract his coat from Aurora’s clenched fingers, Seymour took a fraction longer to bolt up out of his chair.

“Stop bellowing! It may intimidate these men but it has not the least effect on me, sir, as you well know.” Aurora folded her arms across her chest. “And stop looking at me with that odious scowl,” she added with a growl. “I find it particularly annoying it when you make that face.”

Alex found himself fighting to keep any semblance of composure. “What face? I am not making a face.”

“Yes, you are. You do it whenever you decide to order people around. Your brows draw together like this, and then your left lip curls up just so.” She mimicked his expression with frightening accuracy.

Both of the advisors stared at her with mouths agape.

His mouth quickly composed itself into a grim line. “Good Lord, must you always argue with me? Just once, will you try to act like a normal, biddable female and listen to reason?” he muttered.

“I thought you said the two of them were unacquainted,” whispered Seymour.

“That was my understanding,” replied Perkins, sounding equally perplexed.

“Well, they certainly sound like an old married couple ….”

“OUT!” The Earl of Woodbridge’s command could best be described as a bellow. A very loud bellow.

The room was quickly emptied of all but the two of them.

Aurora, the odious scowl still on her face, stood up and moved over stand by the high mullioned windows. Her gaze drifted to the teeming street below for several moments before turning back to him. “Well? Now what?”

Alex drew in a deep breath. He had thought facing a troop of howling Kashmiri bandits required a steady nerve! Ha! He would much rather face off against a hundred flashing knives than the pair of emerald eyes that was now throwing daggered looks at his person. His teeth clamped together as he sought for a strategy to break the tense silence. He’d be damned if he would let her take the offensive, for it wasn’t as if she didn’t have a good deal to answer for herself.

“First of all, I suppose we had best deal with the matter at hand before anything else,” he began haltingly. “It appears that we may have to revise the proposal my man of affairs presented to you in his letter, now that certain facts have come to light. Obviously we cannot proceed as before, due to the truth of?—”

“Oh, we certainly wouldn’t want to lie ,” she interrupted with withering sarcasm. “Would we, Major Woodmore? But really, what is yet one more untruth, when added to all the others?”

Alex flushed despite himself. “On a clandestine mission one never reveals one’s real name,” he muttered a bit defensively. “Other than that, I did not seek to …” His words cut off as he quickly recovering his equilibrium. “My God, you don’t think I set out to deliberately deceive you, Mrs. Sprague .

Two spots of color came to her cheeks. “Sprague was my grandmother’s name, and considering all that had taken place, the only one I felt proud to bear. Anyway, I never thought of Fenimore as my real name. And it would have raised too many awkward questions when Robbie and I chose to leave my father’s house and make our own way in the world.”

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Why was it you never took up residence at Rexford?”

“You need ask?” she replied in a scathing tone. “I was heartily sick of bullying male despots. Why should I have merely exchanged one for another?”

His color deepened but he let the matter drop. “That is something we shall discuss at a later time, but for now, we had best address the current situation. What … happened in Scotland has made things a good deal more complicated?—”

“Why?” Her chin came up. “If you insist on being a stickler for honesty, why not simply do as I have suggested and change the petition to one of divorce on the grounds of adultery. A physical examination, as Mr. Seymour so delicately put it, would confirm the fact.”

“No! I will not permit it.”

“Afraid you will become a laughing stock if it is bandied about that your wife was not satisfied with your own prowess, considerable though it may be?”

“There will be no sordid talk of adultery,” he said through gritted teeth. “For your sake, not mine.”

Aurora’s lip curled in contempt. “Well, it is the truth, in thought if not in deed! I certainly did not know I was slipping between the sheets with my lawfully wedded husband!”

“The devil take it!” Alex was on his feet too, and stalked to within arm’s length of her. “Don’t be such a stubborn fool, Aurora. Have you no idea what disgrace you would bring upon yourself and your friend Robbie with such an outrageous announcement? I would have no trouble weathering the scandal, but you should find yourself a total outcast from Society.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “As if it would matter! It isn’t as if I have any desire to seek out another husband. Hell will freeze over before I should ever contemplate another marriage, especially with a so-called gentleman.”

Alex knew full well that he deserved a measure of scorn for the past, but still he was cut by the razored disdain of her words. Without stopping to consider what he was saying, he lashed back. “You may sneer all you like at men in general and me in particular, but it was not ice flowing in your veins when you lay in my arms. Don’t deny you took a full measure of enjoyment from the experience.”

Aurora turned white, and her hands clenched into fists. “You appear to have inherited not only a lofty title, sir, but the same arrogant, bullying attitudes of your despicable father. And mine. To think I ever thought you any different from the rest of them! A plague on all of you men who think females want or need nothing more than a tumble in bed to keep them satisfied and submissive.” She turned, throwing her profile in shadow. “You may write up the papers however you wish. I shall inform Mr. Seymour I will sign any agreement to be rid of a scoundrel like you.”

With that, she turned on her heel and quit the room, the door slamming shut with a thunderous bang.