Persuasion (19 page)

“What does that mean?” she cried.

“It means our uncle can be heartless. It means he wants Jack in his command.”

Amelia paced. Could Warlock be so despicable? Jack was his nephew! “Is Warlock holding something over you, too?”

Lucas approached. “No, Amelia. I am helping those poor souls flee France because I believe in real freedom, the kind that allows a man to speak out for or against his government, without fearing for his life—and those of his family.”

She hugged him. “I am sorry I asked. I am so frightened for Jack and I am afraid for you, too.” And as she held Lucas, she thought about Simon, whom she was even more frightened for. She looked up at him. “There is more. I am also worried about Grenville, but not because he has lost his wife.”

He tensed visibly, setting her back, his expression hard. “What do you mean?”

“I am beginning to think that he is as involved in the war as you are!”

Lucas’s expression never changed—which surprised her. “Grenville, an agent of some kind?” He was incredulous. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“He has nightmares, Lucas, in which he speaks French and screams about blood and death. He keeps a loaded pistol in his desk downstairs, and another one beside his bed. One night a shutter came loose. He ran to the door, holding a gun, as if he expected to confront French soldiers!” she cried. “Last night I was telling the boys a bedtime story. I heard him shouting in his rooms. I thought he was in trouble and when I went inside, he pointed a gun at me!”

Lucas took her arm, his grasp firm. “I cannot believe you would barge into his rooms. Clearly, you were not hurt!”

“What do you think?” she demanded.

“I think he is an odd beast, period. Everyone knows he is a recluse who prefers the barren northern reaches of this country to town. I have even heard gossip that he is somewhat unhinged. Perhaps he is losing his mind with grief?”

She stared, in disbelief. Why would Lucas suggest such a thing?

“Or perhaps he is being blackmailed, or some such thing.” He shrugged. “But I have never heard Grenville utter a political opinion. I doubt he is any more a patriot than the livery boy down the street.”

Amelia slowly shook her head. “Why are you trying to tell me that he is some melancholy madman? I heard him cry out for someone named Danton. Julianne told me about Georges Danton and his execution. I am beginning to think Simon was in France, and that he knew Danton—that they were friends!”

“That is an incredible leap to make!” Lucas exclaimed. “If you want to comfort Grenville, Amelia, that is one thing. He is surely grieving for his wife. But to come to such wild conclusions, that is another. Leave well enough alone.” He suddenly looked past her.

Amelia felt her nape tingle and she slowly turned.

Simon stood in the doorway, smiling politely at them. She did not know how long he had been standing there.

“Good day, Greystone. I was wondering when you would call,” he said calmly.

“Grenville.” Lucas bowed his head, and then he gave Amelia a warning glance. No look could have been clearer: she was wrong. She was not to believe what she was thinking, and that was that. She was taken aback.

Simon sauntered into the room. “Would you care for a glass of wine? I believe it is about that time,” he said. He turned blandly to Amelia. “Miss Greystone? Please have Lloyd bring a bottle of my best claret.”

Amelia looked back and forth between both men, almost fearing a battle. But she realized that no battle was going to occur. Simon wasn’t exactly looking at Lucas—and Lucas wasn’t glancing at him directly, either.

“I have come to inquire after my sister,” Lucas said.

“Yes, I imagined you would do so.”

Amelia backed out, stunned.

Lucas and Simon knew one another—far better than they had ever let on.

* * *

W
HEN
A
MELIA
HAD
LEFT
,
Simon went to the door and opened it, to make certain she was not eavesdropping. But she was gone. Grimly, he closed the door and turned to face Lucas. Greystone stared coldly at him in return.

Simon recalled the last time he had had a conversation with him. They had shared a drink last summer, when he had briefly been in the country. Then, they had spoken only of events in France, and how it impacted Britain. In fact, he felt almost certain that they had never had a personal exchange in the three years or so that they had been secret allies in the war effort and under Warlock’s command.

“She is going to uncover you,” Lucas said.

“I heard. She has been regaling you with stories of my odd behavior.” He meant to be indifferent and he shrugged. But Amelia was the most determined woman he knew, and he was becoming afraid that she was not going to give up the tack she was on. His behavior wasn’t helping. He cringed whenever he recalled pointing a gun at her temple last night.

“She is suspicious.”

“Yes, she is,” Simon said as mildly. He wasn’t surprised that Greystone had called on his sister. He had expected such a call, sooner or later, just as he had expected Greystone to object to Amelia being his housekeeper. “Your sister is rather inquisitive and she is very clever.”

Lucas strode to him. “You have lost all common sense, to bring her into your household. But frankly, Grenville, right now I do not care if she discovers what you are up to. I care that you have put her in danger by bringing her into your home.” His gray eyes blazed.

Simon remained outwardly calm. But Lucas had just voiced his own fears. “How so?”

“How so?” he exploded. “Last summer, the radicals here in town tried to use Amelia against Julianne,” Simon started. Lucas continued fiercely. “Julianne was asked to spy for the Jacobins. When she refused, Amelia and our mother were threatened. That is why Garrett remains with them at all times!”

“I did not know,” Simon said slowly. But he felt himself flush. Hadn’t he known all along that it was better to stay away from Amelia, and that to bring her close could only put her in jeopardy? Lucas would be even more agitated if he knew just how much danger Simon was placing her in. But he said, “You should calm down. I asked her to take this position for the sake of my children. My enemies can’t possibly know that we have any relationship outside that of employer and housekeeper. They cannot know that they could use her against me if they wished.”

Lucas flushed. “Ah, yes, now we get to the reason I am livid. What exactly is your relationship if not that of housekeeper and employer?”

“She is my neighbor, and we are friends.”

“Funny—Amelia never once mentioned that you are friends! Haven’t you forgotten the most relevant point?” Lucas mocked.

He was taken aback, but he did not let his surprise show. But Lucas had been just as protective of Amelia ten years ago, when he had forbidden Simon from calling on her. And maybe it was time to be rather candid with Amelia’s brother now. “Greystone, we have never discussed what happened a decade ago.”

“No, we haven’t. When Warlock introduced us a few years back, there was no point. So many years had passed that discussing the past seemed irrelevant and inflammatory. The war was my sole focus, but, then, I did not know your wife would die and you would reel Amelia back into your life.”

“You are making it sound as if my intentions are dishonorable. They are not.”

“Amelia is an innocent, in spite of her age,” Lucas flashed. “She will always give everyone the benefit of the doubt—even you. To make matters worse, you have lost your wife and you are grieving. She feels sorry for you, never mind your callous disregard for her feelings ten years ago! And I know you will use that to your advantage. I am warning you—lay one hand on her, and I will be the one to bring you down.”

Simon tensed. “You are a patriot. You would never betray me to my enemies.”

“Really? Touch her and you will find that I am your worst enemy.”

And Simon realized that he meant it. “I brought Amelia into my home to take care of my children—not to abuse her. I have regrets, Lucas. I am sorry I pursued Amelia as I did, ten years ago.” He would not tell him that he could not regret the time they had spent together. “But even then, I respected Amelia far too much to take advantage of her. I certainly respect her too much now.” But as he spoke, his heart drummed. Last night, he had been a heartbeat away from making love to her. He had been recalling having her in his bed, beneath his body, ever since.

Lucas snarled, “You broke her heart.”

His tension spiraled. “As I said, I have regrets. Amelia and I have discussed the past and agreed to put it behind us. I am very concerned for my children, Greystone. I did not ask her to take this position impulsively. I thought about it at great length. With Lady Grenville gone, I needed someone I could trust to care for my children, both when I am in the country and when I am not. And if one day I do not return, at least I will die knowing that Amelia is here, doing what is in my children’s best interests.”

“That was a pretty speech,” Lucas said. “Since when is a man of your stature ‘friends’ with his housekeeper? And since when can a pair of lovers ignore the history they shared?”

Lucas would be furious if he knew that they had not been able to put the past behind them, not at all. “It is an unusual arrangement,” Simon said. “Can you at least admit that she is wonderful with children, and that my children sorely need her? That I am right to trust their futures with her?”

“She needs children of her own,” Lucas said flatly. “And I am going to begin looking for a husband for her immediately.”

Simon was shocked and then dismayed. Greystone thought to find her a husband?

“Oh, I see that does not sit well with you!”

“No.” He managed a smile. “I happen to agree with you, Greystone. She deserves a family of her own.” But all he could think of was his children. What about William and John? What about Lucille?

And how would he manage, without her?

“Really?” Lucas approached. “I want your word, Grenville, that you will not touch her. I want your word that you will keep her safe.”

Simon realized he hesitated. In that moment, all he could think of was how it had felt to have Amelia in his arms last night. All he could remember was the terrible, maddening urgency, the utter desperation he had felt. In her arms, there was no war, and death did not shadow him.

“You cannot give me your oath?” Lucas gasped.

He flushed. “My intentions are honorable.” And he knew he must not let another moment of insane passion overwhelm them. Amelia deserved more than he could ever give her. “So, yes, I am giving you my word. I will treat Amelia with the respect she deserves.” But even as he spoke, he trembled, because somewhere deep inside, he hated making such an oath. But his next promise came from his very soul. “I will keep her safe, Greystone. I swear. I would die to keep her safe.”

“Good.” Lucas turned as a knock sounded on the door and Lloyd appeared with the bar cart. Amelia stood behind him, pale, her eyes wide and bright. She looked back and forth between both men.

“I’m afraid I am not staying,” Lucas said. “Enjoy your claret, Grenville. Amelia, walk me out.”

She inhaled. “I see no blood has been drawn. I am grateful for that.” She glanced worriedly at Simon.

“I have no intention of fighting with your brother,” Simon said tersely. Softening his tone, he said, “Why don’t you see him out.”

Giving him a last worried glance, Amelia turned. Simon watched Amelia and her brother leave. Then he poured a glass of wine and downed it. His first oath felt like a lie. His second one felt like a premonition.

* * *

T
HE
SALON
DOOR
LOCKED
,
Simon faced himself in the Venetian mirror that was hanging over a small, marble table with gilded legs. It was almost midnight. He continued buttoning up the black-velvet coat he had just put on, staring at his pale reflection. He had whitened his skin with asbestos, a chalklike product favored by many noblewomen, and he had lightly rouged his lips. He was also wearing a bright reddish-gold wig.

He looked very outlandish, rather effeminate, and not at all like the Earl of St. Just. He was fairly certain that his disguise would pass muster, at least at first glance.

As for getting out of his home without discovery, Amelia was upstairs, keeping sentinel on the boys. He had claimed that he believed John had had a fever earlier in the evening. She had told him he was imagining it, but he had insisted that he thought his younger son was becoming ill. He had told her that it would put his mind at peace if she would stay with the boys for a while that night, just to make certain John was not becoming sick. When she had seemed doubtful, he had told her he would read in the library—and he had promised to stay out of her way.

He finished buttoning up the black coat and he smiled grimly at his eccentric reflection. Amelia would not leave John’s side, he was certain, for several more hours, allowing him to escape the house in disguise and undetected. When he returned, he would leave his disguise in the stables.

The plan was not perfect, but it would do.

Satisfied, he glanced at the bronze clock on the mantle of the fireplace. He was going to be late. He was supposed to meet Marcel at midnight, and he would not be there in ten minutes. But that was the point. He had no intention of being the first to arrive at the tavern.

Simon snuffed out the three candles that had been burning, and slipped out of the library and into the dark hallway. He did not carry a taper, and he had made certain to extinguish all the lights when he had gone in earlier.

A horse was saddled and waiting for him in the stables, the groom sworn to secrecy.

Simon strode down the hall. The entry was also unlit, but he had no intention of going out the front door. He would exit through the terrace doors of the ballroom, as he had done a few days ago at dawn. The stables could also be reached from the gardens outside.

But he had to cross the entry hall, and he did so swiftly and soundlessly. He had just entered the west wing when he felt the hairs on his nape prickle.