Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 03] Read online

  What had happened to him? He felt as though he’d stepped off the curb to the street, then found himself falling a great distance.

  There was definitely something odd going on with him. Probably far too much wine last night.

  Probably.

  “Very well then. I’ll take your word for Edward Wadsworth’s guilt, but how can you be sure that Louis was involved?”

  “Oh, he was involved, never fear.”

  Collis didn’t think he liked the road his thoughts were traveling. “If Louis Wadsworth was a member of the Knights of the Lily…if he is a dangerous traitor…and if you once worked for his father…”

  Rose looked up. “Oh, yes. That’s all true.”

  “Then what the bloody hell were you thinking going in there alone?”

  She said nothing, but only gazed at him with those bottomless eyes. Collis rose to pace before her, unable to contain his fury. “What if you’d been discovered? Did it ever occur to you that your rashness could get you killed?”

  Her eyes narrowed and her chin rose. “If I had been apprehended—which I might point out I wasn’t, despite severe interference on your part—I would have been sentenced as a thieving servant. That is all.”

  “What if Louis recognized you?”

  She didn’t look quite so sure of herself at that. “It wasn’t likely. I stayed well out of his way.”

  An ugly thought slimed its way across Collis’s mind. “You said Louis Wadsworth had a history of molesting his dependents. Did he ever…?”

  She put the cap on the leather tube with great concentration. “He never raped me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  It was. The relief Collis felt was profound. The very thought—

  But that wasn’t the topic of the moment. The topic was—

  “What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

  Her lips twitched. “You’re repeating yourself, Tremayne.” She leaned her head to one side to look around him. “Keep your voice down, if you please. I don’t want to wake the Prince Regent. I’m worried that he pushed himself too far last night.”

  Collis knelt before her, taking her chin in his good hand. “Very well, then,” he hissed. “You can quietly explain to me why you ignored every rule of the Liars to put yourself in gravest danger. I would have thought you had those rules written on your sleeve!” He released her, rubbing his fingers together. Her skin was so soft.

  “That’s silly,” she retorted. “I keep them in my shoe.”

  He stared at her. She sent him an impish pursing of her lips. His anger was no match for the laughter boiling up from within.

  When he was done, he sighed. “Oh, Briar Rose, you are going to die young. You know that, don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Most Liars do, Collis. It’s the nature of the vow we took.”

  That was true—but somehow, no longer such an easy prospect.

  Glad that Collis had gotten over his anger, Rose busied herself tearing strips from the cleaner portions of her petticoats.

  Collis frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “Bandages,” she explained. “For my shoulder.”

  Collis went ice-white. “You’re bleeding?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You’re wounded?” Collis wasn’t prepared for the icy jolt of fear in his gut. He dropped to his knees behind her. “What happened?”

  Rose stretched her chin as far as possible but could not see her own shoulder blade. “Knife, I think. Blast it, I could have sworn they only had blunt weapons.” She shuddered to think that she had led His Highness through such a gauntlet. What had she been thinking?

  “I thought it missed you.”

  Even in the light, it was difficult to see the blood staining the heavy black fabric of her maid uniform, but there was no hiding the four-inch slit. Collis swallowed hard. He reached out and tried to peer through it to see the damage, only to snatch his hand away at Rose’s sharp gasp. “Sorry. I think we ought to get you to a physician.”

  Rose shook her head. “We can’t.”

  Collis frowned. “But you’re bleeding!”

  “It isn’t so bad. I didn’t even realize it until a moment ago.”

  Rose began to twist one arm behind her. She appeared to be trying to undo her gown with one hand.

  He well knew how difficult that could be. He crossed the chamber and reached into the comatose prince’s waistcoat for the scrolled silver flask he knew was secreted there, then he returned to her. She stopped her efforts to look up at him warily. Collis held out his hand. “You’re no cat, Rose, though you may fight like one. You cannot reach. Let me.”

  Kneeling behind Rose, he tugged carefully at the row of small plain buttons that ran down the back of her uniform. She aided him by pulling aside the softly curling wisps of hair that had fallen to the nape of her neck. Her head bent, she sat vulnerable before him—a position that neither of them were at ease with.

  The buttons parted far enough for him to pull the fabric aside, and he slowly dropped his hands from them. Carefully he lifted the gabardine away from her wound. They hissed simultaneously when the sticking cloth tore the drying scab anew.

  Blood seeped from a long slice in her white skin. The sides did not gape, which meant that the cut was shallow, but the sluggishly flowing blood still alarmed him.

  His own handkerchief was still dry and clean in his breast pocket. “This will sting, I fear, but there is no water here.” He soaked his handkerchief with the contents of George’s flask and dabbed tentatively at the wound.

  “No,” she said, her jaw clenched around the words. “Press. Press hard.”

  He did so, flattening his hand over the port-soaked linen with his fingers curling over her bare shoulder. She cried out softly but leaned hard into his touch, adding her own strength to the pressure. They remained thus, silent and intense, until finally Rose retreated with a gasp that told Collis she had been holding her breath.

  “Is it bleeding still? Kurt told me that would stop the bleeding.” Her voice was husky with pain and, if he was not mistaken, unshed tears.

  Collis wiped carefully at the wound, then watched it. “No, only a very little.”

  “Oh, good,” she said faintly. She lifted the strips of torn petticoat over her shoulder. “If you wouldn’t mind…I would much appreciate your help.”

  Her polite request stung. Was he such an ogre that she suspected he needed to be asked—to be importuned to help dress a wound?

  He took the strips silently. The handkerchief he folded into a sort of pad, which he meant to tie across her shoulder with the strips. Her gown defeated him, however.

  “I’m afraid we must remove this,” he said, tugging gently at the opened placket. Rose cast him a long look over her wounded shoulder, then nodded. Collis, fingers shaking inexplicably, undid the rest of the buttons to her waist, then eased the dress off both her shoulders. She managed to pull her uninjured arm from the sleeve, but stopped with a small involuntary noise when she tried to manage the other. Silently Collis reached his arm around her to pull gently at her cuff, tugging the sleeve down to her wrist without further raising her arm.

  She gathered her bodice to her front and leaned back toward him trustingly. She didn’t seem fond of underthings, for she wore nothing beneath the dress but her petticoat, not even a chemise. How was he ever going to look at her again and not remember that arousing little fact?

  Her upper body was as bare and gleaming as a Grecian sculpture in marble. Faint marks seemed to cross her back, some pale, some darker. No, it was likely only the uncertain light. The curve of her spine distracted him. He wanted to trace it with his fingertips down to where the parted gown clung to the swell of her buttocks. He remained frozen for only a moment, then recalled himself to his task.

  The only way to fix the pad was to wind the binding under her arm and across her chest, then back around. Collis put enormous effort into not touching her breasts, but there were a few unavoidable moments. The soft weight of o
ne sat warmly on his exposed wrist for a long moment that was drawn out by the fact that his hands began to shake rather severely.

  A sonorous rumble rent the tension. George’s snores were deafening in the confines of the stone chamber.

  Holding herself quite still with her eyes closed, Rose said nothing, allowing him to regain his hold on the linen without interfering. Trusting Collis not to press his advantage was a bit like trusting a dog not to lick, but there it was. She trusted him.

  Her shoulder burned so that tears began to press against her lids, demanding exit. Or perhaps she was simply weary. It could not be the tender way he handled her wound or the profoundly respectful way he navigated her near nudity, could it?

  Oh, but to let her guard down for one blissful moment…

  His hands were warm despite the pervading chill. How was he so warm? Did shining brilliant men like Collis simply burn hotter? He was melting her. She was wax set too close to the blaze. So close. She could feel his breath on her exposed nape. If only…

  Collis was very upset at the damage to her flesh. He’d never realized how delicate she was, how fine boned. Her skin was pure ivory silk but for the slash profaning it. He cared for her silently, marveling at her bravery and her sheer dog-rotted idiocy. Finally, he tied the binding off and helped her pull her dress back on. After buttoning her up, he sat back on his heels.

  “What are you doing in the Liar’s Club?” His voice was soft. “What were you thinking? You shouldn’t be putting yourself in such danger. You should be—”

  She looked at him over one shoulder. “Toting chamber pots, like I was before?” She turned fully to him. “I’m no lady, Collis Tremayne. Don’t forget that. Servitude can be as dangerous as espionage in some settings. At least with the Liars I have my pride.”

  Rose and her pride. “I’m quite sure you had an apronful of pride as a servant, as well, for you’ve much to spare now.”

  She was silent for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I had no pride. There was no depth that I was not sunk to in the name of the master.” She shrugged. “I know there are proud servants. I’ve met the legendary Mr. Pearson. But where I was there was no time for pride. There was only survival.”

  She turned to look at him, pulling the dress back over her shoulder. The faint pale streaks upon her skin flashed slightly in the lantern’s light. Scars. Collis felt sick. “You were whipped? But that is illegal!”

  “Yes,” she said dryly. “What a comfort to know that when your back is being torn to strips.” Her tone was light, but her body was so tense Collis thought she might shatter from it.

  His own behavior came back to haunt him now. His teasing, his competitiveness. “I’m sorry, Rose.”

  He didn’t have to explain what for. She gazed at him, then nodded. “You should be. You can be rather foul, you know.”

  “I know. I always have. It’s a sort of gift of mine, to be able to know precisely what will upset someone the most. I don’t use it, mind you. At least, not usually.”

  “It’s a powerful weapon. I suggest you keep it unloaded.”

  He grinned. “Or I might shoot myself?”

  She almost smiled. “The possibility exists.”

  He cocked his head at her. “You do speak beautifully, you know. One would never doubt that you were a lady.”

  She actually blushed. “Thank you.”

  Praising her felt very good. Collis gave it another try. “If it wasn’t for your direct gaze, you’d pass as well-born.”

  “Direct?”

  “One would think there was a map of the world on the carpet for the way ladies stare at it all the time.”

  She looked away. “I didn’t know.”

  “Now you’re doing it. Ladies do tend to look away a great deal—I wonder why—”

  “So you can’t see your own foolishness reflected in their eyes, you young lout,” came a rusty voice behind them. The Prince was awake.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They were holding a mission discussion, Rose realized, except that instead of Lord Etheridge, there was the Prince Regent of England—and instead of the well-equipped environs of the Liar’s Club, she and Collis stood before the seated Prince in an underground audience chamber. A rising giggle threatened to interrupt His Royal Highness. She bit down on her tongue, hard.

  “Now, thanks to our dear Miss Lacey—how are you feeling, my dear? Better now? Good—we have in our hands the diagrams for the commemorative carbines that I was telling you about, Collis.”

  Rose nearly held up her hand like a good student. The Prince must have noticed her aborted gesture, for he nodded at her like a teacher. “Yes, Miss Lacey?”

  “Do you mean to say you’ve already seen these diagrams?”

  The Prince frowned slightly. “I have seen sketches and I have seen the finished product…but no, somehow I missed seeing these particular drawings before.”

  Collis crossed his arms. “Would you necessarily see the manufacturing diagrams, Your Highness?”

  George shrugged. “Sometimes, perhaps. If I’m not too bored.”

  Collis glanced at her. She returned the look. There was no respectful way to respond to that statement, was there? Collis settled for clearing his throat instead.

  “Isn’t the arms market very competitive now, Your Highness? What is so unusual about a manufacturer keeping his designs locked away? I would think it the norm, rather.”

  “That is quite true, Collis. The plans do not seem odd. The fact of their concealment is not odd. In fact, nothing about this case seems odd—except for the fact that Miss Lacey suspects that Louis Wadsworth is not what he seems.”

  Knows he is not what he seems, Rose wanted to say, but she held her tongue. So far, George seemed willing to listen to her. She would not correct him.

  The Prince continued. “The fact that Louis was concealing these plans at home does seem slightly odd. I have toured his factory. He has a perfectly good vault in it that is good enough for his money…so why not good enough for these plans?

  “According to information collected by the Liars, there is nothing suspect about the actual operations of the factory. It has produced thousands of guns over the last few years that are already in use defending England.” George smiled at them both. “Yet the fact remains that I want this looked into. That’s the lovely part about being the ruler. I can.”

  He paused, looking at them both. Rose could very nearly hear the royal gears turning. His gaze flicked to her. “Miss Lacey, are you sure you are not in need of a physician?”

  She shook her head. Despite his reputation and royal stature, she found him rather sweet. “It takes more than a scratch to put me out, Your Highness. I was a housemaid, a real housemaid, before I joined the Liars.”

  “Yes, my dear. I know. Collis speaks of you often.”

  “He—he does?” Oh, fry it. That couldn’t be good. Collis shuffled uncomfortably next to her.

  The Prince stood and stretched. “Do you know, I never wanted to be King,” he said lightly, in what seemed to be an odd change of subject. “They say I couldn’t wait to seize my father’s power. I suppose it’s hard for people to understand. It seems so lovely, being the ruler.” George sighed. “Yet all I ever wanted was to live my own life. Dream my own dreams. Love my own love.”

  Rose didn’t know how to respond to that confidence. Of course she knew about his strange marriage to his first cousin, Caroline of Brunswick. The story had it that they had never met until three days before the royal wedding and it was loathing at first sight for the both of them. Even legendary lecher George had never managed to get more than one child with his despised wife, and had eventually banished her to roam Europe, where, according to gossip, she was doing everything possible to shame and disgust her husband. And knowing what George was capable of, that likely meant going quite far.

  Rose wasn’t one to collect royal gossip, but this was all common knowledge. Every blacksmith and baker knew the story. Many even rooted for Caroline, si
nce George had never made the least effort to become beloved by his subjects.

  Still, Rose felt for him. Perhaps if he’d been allowed to remain married to his beloved Maria Fitzherbert, he would not be the madly unhappy man he was now.

  Perhaps being King was not so free, after all.

  “I—I’m sure you will be a great king, Your Highness.”

  “I’m sure I will be a great joke.” George smiled. “Still, you and Collis remind me of myself and my dear Fitzherbert. ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’” Then the Prince smiled indulgently at her. “You look puzzled. Forgive me, my dear. Of course you wouldn’t recognize the reference.”

  She and Collis? Romantic? She heard Collis make a strangled sound beside her. She was not going to look at him. Ever.

  “Oh, I recognize the line, Your Highness,” she said quickly. “I simply can’t see how you could compare the situations. Collis and I could never be considered to be from ‘two households, both alike in dignity.’”

  Both men blinked. Reaching the limit of her patience, Rose rolled her eyes at their stunned expressions. “Good Lord, do you think I have wasted these last months?”

  Collis looked uneasy. “But—but I was told that when you came to the Liars you could barely read.”

  “True, but I was able to catch up very quickly. Lady Raines has been teaching me etiquette and mathematics, while Lady Etheridge has been teaching me literature and history.”

  Collis looked absolutely dumbfounded. “When?” He peered at her. “You’ve been in every class that I have, and a few that I have not. You work in the school to earn your keep, and you said you work extra hours with Kurt in the arena.”

  She shrugged, uncomfortable. “There are sometimes fewer hours in the day than I would like, but truly, it isn’t like real work at all. When I was in service, I was up well before dawn and sometimes worked well past midnight.”

  Collis thought uneasily of his own efforts. Here was a girl who had lived her days working out of fear of a beating or a sacking. Here was someone who truly knew the meaning of survival.