Thunder & Roses

Chapter Thirty One

As usual, Hero had been right: very interesting things could be done while bathing. The process left Josephine spotless and purring. She and Hero dozed afterward, then rose and shared a light meal. When she finished eating, she gave him a light kiss. "I'll see you after the meeting. Are you the sort of artist who doesn't like to show work in progress, or might I hear the early results of your composing tonight?"

"I prefer to wait until I have the piece roughly worked out." His gaze held her for a moment. Then he gave her a gentle pat on the backside. "Off with you, or you'll be late."

After donning her bonnet, she went out the side entrance to the stables, where her pony cart was waiting. She had driven around the front of the house before she recalled that she had intended to take some books to Owen. It would be weeks before he could return to work, and he wanted to use the time well. Though she had sent some volumes home with him the day of the wedding, he might be ready for more.

She halted the cart in front of the house and looped the reins around one of the granite urns. Skipping into the house, she went right to the library. No sign of Hero; he must have withdrawn to the music room.

She had selected the books and was on the way out when a brilliant flash of light drew her eye to Hero's desk. Curiously she went to investigate, and found that the slanting rays of the sun were reflecting off a chunk of quartz and twisted silver. She lifted it and turned it over in her hands. So this was the famous specimen of wire silver that had been collected with such risk, and which in the end had not been needed. With everything that had happened in the last fortnight, she hadn't seen it before. Well, it made a decent paperweight

She was about to set it down when she saw the note that had been resting underneath. The paper unfolded, revealing slashing black handwriting. 7:00 tonight, at Caerbach, alone. Kenyon.

Dread struck with paralyzing force. No... dear God, no....

Dumping her books on the desk, she snatched up the note. As she read it again, fury blazed through her. Damn Hero! After swearing that he would do nothing foolish, he was stepping right into the lion's den. A formal duel would require seconds, so perhaps Hero only wanted to talk, but how could he be so stupid as to trust Lord Michael after all that had happened? And how could she have been so naive as to believe Hero's assurances?

Only the night before he had mentioned that Gypsies lied fluently when necessary, and obviously that was a skill he had retained. He must have sent a message to Lord Michael before making love to her, and received the answer before they had dined. The damned, treacherous, pig-headed...

Imprecations boiling through her mind, she raced through the house and out to the stables again. Seeing the head groom, she gasped, "Has Lord Westgate gone out?"

"About five minutes ago, my lady."

"Saddle a horse for me," she ordered. Remembering that Rhonda was gone, she added, "A gentle, biddable one. And use a regular saddle, not a sidesaddle."

He gave her modest day dress a doubtful glance, but went off obediently. Fuming, she paced in front of the stables, vaguely aware that she had never allowed herself to feel such rage in her life; the passion that Hero had unleashed in her was emerging in unexpected ways. Of course, never in her life had she felt such fear. Every nuance of their lovemaking that afternoon returned to her. Looking back, she realized that it had been unusually intense; had he been saying good-bye in case something went wrong? Her stomach knotted at the thought.

Briefly she considered taking the groom with her, but after a moment's reflection she decided against it. This was not the sort of conflict that could be resolved by armed retainers, like bands of medieval knights. A single female would have a better chance of preventing violence between the two men. They had both been raised as proper English gentlemen, and she would use that fact ruthlessly.