opening up our Mayfair house and we want you to visit us—in fact, we’ll be offended if you don’t. Though you seem to have your hands pretty full here, from what I’ve seen …’
They talked on, about Two Crows Castle and a parliamentary bill that was going forwards to secure better rights for the injured soldiers. Then it was time for Lucas to leave, but out in the hallway he paused.
‘Alec, tell me if this is none of my business, but I was in Rundell’s yesterday—you know, the art dealers on Ludgate Hill? And I noticed two rather fine oil paintings there that I’d swear I’d last seen in your father’s drawing room. Were you aware that he was putting some of his collection on the market?’
‘No,’ breathed Alec, suddenly tensing. ‘No, by God, I wasn’t. And I wonder if my father is!’
As soon as Lucas had gone, Alec clenched his fists. That painting, of Blenheim. Sent to specialists, to be cleaned? His suspicions ran riot. But how to go about this? How to tackle this new, damnable problem without letting the whole world—especially his father—know?
His mind flew to Rosalie Rowland.
He’d been a fool to kiss her again; that had helped nothing. If he’d been hoping to breach her defences, he’d learned not a fragment more about the enigmatic little widow from the Temple of Beauty—except that she knew rather a lot about art.
Then Garrett came in. ‘You know you told the lads to ask round careful-like about Mrs Rowland, Captain? Well, they’ve found out that when she arrived in London last autumn, she stayed with that printer friend of hers, in Clerkenwell.’
Alec nodded tiredly. Helen Fazackerley.
‘And she spent most of her time,’ went on Garrett, ‘goin’ round theatres.’
‘Going round theatres! With her infant?’
‘She didn’t have the infant with her then, see?’ said Garrett patiently. ‘The little ‘un—Katy—seemed to turn up some time in December. Mrs Rowland left ‘er then for an hour or two at a time with her printer friend, or a neighbour of theirs. And she carried on traipsing each day from one playhouse to another. Askin’ about someone called—Linette.’
With that, Garrett nodded and left.
Alec frowned, rubbing the tension from the back of his neck.
Who the deuce was Linette?
He’d gone easy on the questions so far, because of Rosalie’s sickness. But now, perhaps, the time for soft-footing it was over.
She’d just told him that she was going mad, confined to her room, hadn’t she? Well, he’d thought of rather an interesting outing for her—and a way to put her secretly to the test.
By the time Alec got back upstairs, Rosalie was sitting by the window, with a drab shawl over her gown and her hair pinned up, and—
‘What exactly are you doing, Mrs Rowland?’
She stiffened. ‘Mending some shirts. Mary came up after you’d gone and I asked her if there was anything I could do.’
‘Mary had no business giving you servants’ work!’
Her blue eyes flashed. ‘Captain Stewart, I’m aware that I’ve been taking up a room, and your time and your servants’ time. That you’ve been feeding both myself and Katy for days now—’
‘And neither of you eats enough to keep a bird alive,’ he retorted, glancing at her slender frame, which was a big mistake, because he remembered with a jolt just how it had felt, spanning that tiny waist with his hands, feeling the feminine swell of her hips, the sweet warmth of those lips …
Damnation. He clamped down hard on the sudden surge of desire.
He went on, in a voice he strove to make less abrasive, ‘I take it you’re feeling considerably better. Would you care to come out for a while with me?’
‘Out …?’
‘Yes. To look at some paintings. They’re at a private house, to the west of the city. It will take us perhaps half an hour to get there.’
She hesitated. ‘You think I’ll be safe?’
‘I don’t think the coward who sent that note would dare to do anything in broad daylight, not while you’re with me.’
She nodded tightly. ‘But Katy …’
‘Your daughter has already been in Mary’s care for days, with my men watching the house—and her—constantly. I thought you might like a change of scene, since earlier you told me you feared you would go mad, trapped in here.’
Rosalie bit her lip. And then she’d let him kiss her. What a fool he must think her. For all her protests and defiance, she’d surrendered to him yet again, so very easily! No wonder he didn’t question her role as a whore at the Temple of Beauty—she played the part so well. Heat unfurled in her insides just at the thought of his lips once more caressing hers.
It was time, finally, to confront him, but not here. Not in this place where he was master. ‘An outing to look at some paintings?’ she said pleasantly. ‘That sounds—delightful, Captain Stewart!’
He gave her twenty minutes to get ready, then came to lead her downstairs. ‘Why not go and see your daughter first?’ he suggested. ‘She’s out in the garden. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave.’
He’d pointed to an open door and she blinked to find herself in the bright sunlight. The garden was larger than she’d thought, a walled quarter of an acre or so of trees and tangled shrubs that ran quite wild. The sound of children’s laughter drew her around the corner to a flagged terrace, where Mary sat sewing in the sun and watching over the children.
Mary beamed a welcome. ‘It’s so good that you’re up and about, my dear! You’ll see for yourself how happy your little girl is with my granddaughters—there’s Jenny, she’s three, and Amy with the pink dress, she’s four …’
Indeed, Katy seemed engrossed in the game she was playing with two merry girls. And nearby at another table were two old soldiers, playing cards idly; but Rosalie remembered what Alec had said—that his men were watching the house and Katy constantly. Again, a pang of warning clamped her ribs.
Who to trust? Who to believe?
‘I need to thank you,’ said Rosalie quietly, ‘for taking such good care of her while I’ve been ill.’
‘Bless you, she’s no trouble at all.’
Just then Katy saw her and ran up to her; Rosalie hugged her tightly. ‘I’m going out for just a little while, Katy, sweetheart!’
Katy
