Last Night's Scandal (The Dressmakers 5)

She looked down at herself. “I’m not sure I can explain this as easily as I can traipsing about naked.”

“You’ll think of something.”

He took her hand and led her to the door. He remembered the way her hands had roved so freely over his body, setting his skin on fire.

What was he going to do with her?

He opened the door a crack.

The drawing room was silent and dark. He listened the way he would when entering a tomb where an ambush might await, his ears tuned to detect the sound of breathing.

No one else was breathing in the drawing room.

He stepped out into the room, taking her with him. The large room was as black as a tomb, but for the wedge of light coming from his doorway and, halfway down, the faintest light from the dying embers of the fire she’d tried to rebuild earlier.

“Will you be able to find your way without breaking your neck?” he said. “Maybe I’d better come with you.”

“I’ll be all right,” she whispered. “There’s very little furniture to bump into.”

She slid her hand from his and started to move away.

He wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words he needed in all the turmoil. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him. He kissed her once, but fiercely. She melted into him.

He broke the kiss and pushed her away. “Go,” he said.

She went.

He waited, listening to the soft patter of her bare feet grow fainter as she traversed the long room. He waited until he heard the soft thud of the door closing behind her.

Then he returned to his room.

Nichols was gathering up her discarded clothing.

Crossing an endless drawing room in the dead of night wasn’t the easiest trick in the best of circumstances. Olivia wasn’t at her best. Her throat ached and her eyes itched and she wanted to sit down and weep for a week.

She knew she’d said the right thing—the necessary thing. But she’d hurt him.

She didn’t mind hurting him physically—he could take it—and she didn’t mind tearing into him when he was being an infuriating blockhead. But all he’d done tonight was take care of her and make love to her . . . and turn her heart inside out.

And now it wasn’t the way it used to be. Whatever she’d felt before—oh, she’d always loved him, after a fashion—but this was different. And at the moment, painful.

Stop whimpering¸ she told herself. One thing at a time.

And the first thing was to get into her bed undetected. She could certainly come up with the cock-and-bull story necessary to explain her clothes lying in front of the drawing room fireplace.

Luckily, rash behavior like waiting in the rain for villains was well within the realm of typical Olivia behavior. No one would turn a hair. No one would wonder at her wearing men’s clothes, either. All she had to do was describe what happened, leaving out the part from the time Lisle came into the drawing room until she’d left from his room.

Leave out a lifetime, in other words.

She crept into her room.

It wasn’t dark.

A candle burned on a small table near the fire.

Bailey sat by the fire. She had mending in her lap but her gaze was on Olivia.

“I can explain,” Olivia said.

“Oh, miss, you always can,” said Bailey.

Mr. Nichols, in the act of artfully strewing about wet clothing in front of the drawing-room fireplace, froze as the small flame appeared. It drifted toward him. As it drew near, he saw Miss Bailey’s face illuminated by the candlelight. A thick shawl swathed what must be her night wear, because he detected surprisingly frivolous ruffles peeping out from a dressing gown, in the environs of her ankles. Her slippers appeared to be adorned with colored ribbons. He couldn’t quite discern the color in the dim light.

“Miss Bailey,” he whispered.

“Mr. Nichols,” she whispered.

“I hope no unearthly beings have caused you to be wakeful,” he said.

“Certainly not,” she said. “I’ve come about the clothes. We can’t leave them here. My miss and your master must have taken leave of their senses—I say that with all due regard for your master’s intelligence, but gentlemen sometimes lose their wits, and my miss has a rare knack for helping them into that condition.”

Nichols regarded the clothes he’d so carefully strewn about.

“Why put on a show when you and I are the only ones besides them aware of any unusual doings this evening?” said Miss Bailey. “Not to say that anything is unusual where my miss is concerned. I’m troubled, particularly, about items needing laundering.”

She meant bloodstains.

Nichols couldn’t tell if she was blushing or only seemed to be. The light from the fire was rather red.

“Ahem,” he said softly. “That thought crossed my mind, but it seemed indelicate to mention it to his lordship.”

“I’ll deal with it,” said Miss Bailey, with the air of one long used to concealing crimes.

Nichols gathered up the damp clothing. “If you will light the way, I will carry it as far as the door,” he said.

She nodded.

She lit the way. He carried the clothing.

At the door, he carefully placed the clothing onto her free arm. He started to reach for the door handle, then paused. “Miss Bailey,” he murmured in her ear.

“No,” she said. “None of that.”

He sighed gently and opened the door.

She slipped into her mistress’s room.

He closed the door and sighed again.

An instant later, the door opened a very little and she said softly, “Wait.”

Nichols turned back hopefully.

A shirt was thrust through the space.

“You can take this back,” she said.

He took his lordship’s shirt.

Chapter 16

Meanwhile, Roy and Jock shivered in the section of the burnt church that hadn’t completely fallen in.

“Who the devil was it?” Jock said.

“What does it matter?” said Roy. “He was there, waiting for us.”

“They was bound to set watch, sooner or later. You heard what they said: The laird’s son was talking about getting dogs.”

“Dogs can be poisoned,” said Roy.

“Damn him, whoever he was,” Jock said. “I about pissed my breeches.”

The white face staring out from the watchtower had scared Roy, too. If he’d stopped to think, he’d’ve known it was human. But who stops to think at times like those? They’d dropped the shovel and the pickaxe and run.

Jock hadn’t dropped the lantern, but he didn’t stop to close the shutter, and the thing—no, it was no thing, but a man—had chased them halfway down the road before Roy grabbed the lantern from his fool brother.

Now they were trapped in the damned church. No fire and no way to make one.

Plenty of time to think, though. At night, in the rain, the old castle on the rise was a big, black hulk against a sky that wasn’t much lighter. Roy stared up at it and thought.

He didn’t know how long it was before Jock said, “Rain’s letting up.”

But it was time enough. “They’re watching for us on the outside,” Roy said, as they left the church. “So we’ll get us someone to watch on the inside.”

“No one’ll do that.”

No one liked them much. People passed the time of day, and then passed quickly enough on to someone else.

That suited Roy. He didn’t like anyone else much, either.

“They won’t do it willing, no,” said Roy. “But I can think of one we can make willing.”

Shortly after noon

Wednesday 26

October

“You understand what to do?” Olivia said.