“Swords!” she whispered. She opened the other door to reveal an array of rapiers, fencing foils, and weather-beaten swords.
“An armory,” she said aloud, “and this is a fencing room.”
“What the devil are you doing in here?”
She whirled around to face the voice, nearly losing the candle in the process. Henry stumbled backward.
“Mr. Beaumont! Why do you insist on frightening me at every turn?”
He seemed grim. “Why do you insist on wandering the house alone in the dead of night? And in your night dress?”
She pulled her dress tighter and noted with relief that Henry at least had donned breeches. “I could not sleep and simply went exploring. What is your excuse?”
“The same. It’s just…”
They stood in awkward silence as he rubbed his neck, seemingly unable to speak his mind.
“Just what?”
“Nothing.”
He glanced at the open cabinet and his eyes lit. “Care for a rematch?”
“At this time of night?”
“Why not?”
She debated briefly. “Very well. But I must warn you, if I fence too much, I may begin dancing. And we both know that if I begin dancing, you may feel the need for a long walk.”
“Let us hope,” he said with a soft laugh.
Henry retrieved a pair of foils while she set the candle on the floor to one side. It cast a pitiful glow that barely reached the walls.
“Take care not to kick the candle,” he said. “My sister would never forgive me if I burned Ardmoore to the ground.”
“Of course.” She adopted a fencer’s stance. “Now, en garde!”
He matched her stance. They circled each other twice before she lunged. He easily deflected her foil and then counterattacked. She parried his thrust and circled away with a grin.
“Well done,” he said.
“And you.”
They repeated the intricate dance several times. She could tell he was holding back in an attempt to keep the contest equitable. His skills were even better than he claimed. She marveled again that she had managed to disarm him in the forest that day. Soon, sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and dotted her forehead. The candlelight caused the perspiration of Henry’s face to shine, illuminating his exertions. They both breathed heavily with the effort. Finally, he produced a lunge that caught her foil by the guard and he twisted it from her hand. She gripped her wrist to rub away the shooting pain of the twisting motion.
“Are you injured?” He dropped his foil and reached for her wrist. She glanced up quickly at his face just inches from hers.
“Only my pride,” she squeaked softly.
He held her wrist gently until she began to tremble. Her eyes locked with his while uncertainty and desire welled simultaneously within her. Without warning, he leaned to plant a gentle kiss upon her forehead. She froze as he held the kiss, wondering, hoping for what might follow. However, he released her wrist and leaned away, clenching and unclenching his empty fist.
“We are even.” He inhaled a ragged breath. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must try to sleep. I have a long journey ahead tomorrow.”
“You are leaving?”
“I must.”
“But the suitors will arrive in a week!”
“I will return by then.” He paused. “In the meantime, do your best to avoid my brother until the others arrive.”
“Your brother? The earl? He is here?”
“Yes.”
“But…” Further words died as she realized his meaning. His brother was her first suitor.
When she failed to speak, he bowed. “Good evening, my lady.”
He briskly exited the room. Lucy stood alone in the light of the flickering candle, more than a little shocked at what had just unfolded. Mostly, though, she just wondered, regretted, and grieved. Wondered what had just passed between them. Regretted that she must choose another, and soon. Grieved that Henry could love her only if she had not been abducted and raised by a criminal; if she were delicate and demure and unblemished and a completely different person; if he were not so convinced of his dark destiny.
After replacing the foils in the cabinet, she bent slowly to retrieve the candle and rolled her gaze one last time around the fencing room. She returned to bed with a single thought on her mind.
“If only.”
Chapter Twenty
“Sir Steadman!”
The infamous highwayman stood slowly, perhaps sensing the danger in Henry’s tone. “What can I do for you, Mr.…”
“Beaumont.”
Seeming recognition of the name raised Steadman’s brows. “Is Lucy well?”
“She is, no thanks to you.”
Relief swept the man’s features. “And how did you find me?”
Henry stepped nearer, hoping to pin the highwayman in the corner of the tavern where he had been sitting. He rested his hand on a loaded pistol as a warning. “One of your gang languishes in an asylum thanks to his greed. He was eager to trade information for release.”
Steadman nodded and touched the dagger affixed to his belt. “You’ve come to kill me or take me in. Which will it be?”
Henry couldn’t help but be impressed by the man’s frankness. “The latter, because I require your cooperation.”
Steadman appeared surprised. “Tell me.”
Henry explained everything. His encounter with Lucy, the return of the gold, and his work for the duchess to prepare Lucy for suitors. It was only when he described Bow Street’s interest and his brother’s blackmail that Steadman grew dour. However, the man seemed to shake away even that and stepped toward Henry with palms outstretched.
“You fear Lucy will hang if the truth comes to light?”
“Unless you clear her name by surrendering to me. You are the only one who can save her.”
Steadman shrugged. “Not possible. So, Lucy will marry an earl at worst. Earl’s wives never hang.”
“You fail to understand. My brother is a bad man.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Henry’s persistent frown grew deeper. “We are. But was it always your intent that Lucy wed a scoundrel who would make her miserable for the remainder of her life?”
Steadman seemed to deflate, but it proved a ruse. He was simply coiling. Before Henry could react, he found himself sprawled on the floor with a dagger at his throat. Steadman peered deep into his eyes. “You fail to understand. I have unfinished business. Lucy is strong and will survive.”