Forbidden

“Is that why you changed it to Margery?” Henry said.

“It seemed more practical,” Margery said. “For a lady’s maid.”

Henry nodded and smiled at her. “I would like to take you for supper,” he said. He took her hand. “Please. Allow me.”

Margery hesitated, hanging back, wary of him again. A walk in the evening was one thing, supper with its suggestion of intimacy and seduction, quite another.

“Why would you do that?” she asked cautiously.

“Because you look as though you are hungry,” Henry said.

Margery could not help her peal of laughter. “That was not what I meant.”

“I know,” Henry said. He was laughing, too. “But you do.”

“I had no dinner today.” Margery was surprised to realize it. “Lady Grant is attending a ball tonight so I dressed her and then came straight out.”

“Then you need to eat,” Henry said. He gave her hand a little tug. Still, she hesitated.

It can do no harm….

Not Granny Mallon’s voice this time, but the voice of her own desires, dangerously persuasive.

She felt her heart sing with pleasure and anticipation that the evening was not to end yet and that she would always have something sweet to remember in the future.

“Thank you,” she said. “I should like that very much.”

From the broad, elegant spaces of Bedford Square, they turned southward toward the higgledy-piggledy jumble of cobbled streets that crowded near the Thames. The evening was cool and bright, the roads busy and noisy, but Margery did not notice the crowds. Her entire attention was wrapped up in Henry, in the brush of his body against hers as they walked, in his smile and in his touch. She wanted no more than this. She held the pink rosebuds carefully and breathed in their heady scent. She was very happy.

LADY EMILY TEMPLEMORE sat at the cherrywood table in the Red Saloon at Templemore House, her tarot cards spread out in a horseshoe shape before her. She had been in her teens when she first started to use the ancient wisdom of the tarot to foretell the future and to guide her. People had laughed at her for her credulity and her interest in the occult. She had been labeled an eccentric and a bluestocking but there had been a hint of fear in those who mocked her. She did not really care. No one understood her; they never had and they never would.

Tonight she had asked the cards a direct question and, as always, they had answered her. She had asked if Margery Mallon was the lost grandchild of her half brother the earl, and if so, what she should do. That was two questions, really, but the one went with the other. If the child had been found, then Lady Emily knew she could not keep quiet and wait for fate to catch up with her. She would need to take action.

Card one in the spread represented the past. It was Temperance, but it was reversed, speaking of quarrels and strife. A shiver shook Lady Emily’s narrow frame as the cruelty and guilt of the past reached out to touch her again. There certainly had been quarrels aplenty at Templemore.

Card two, representing the present, was the Eight of Swords. The card summed up her current emotions very accurately. She felt trapped and powerless and very afraid. She reached for her glass of ratafia and swallowed three quarters of the sweet liqueur in one gulp. A flush lit her sallow cheeks. She felt a little warmer. The neck of the bottle rattled against the glass as she topped it up. The fire hissed as a log settled deeper in the grate.

Card three was very important, because it gave an insight into the hidden influences at work. It was the Knight of Swords. She thought this was probably Henry. Henry was ruthless and determined and driven by duty. He would do his utmost to bring Lady Marguerite home, even though he would be the one who would lose the most by it. Lady Emily shrugged her thin shoulders. She knew Henry was dangerous, her most dangerous enemy.

Matters did not improve with the fourth card, which represented the obstacles in her path. It was the Seven of Cups. The card spoke of important choices to be made. The problem was that there were so many different options that she felt quite overwhelmed. The card held a warning, as well: take care in your decision, for all is not as it seems.

Frowning, Lady Emily turned her attention to the final three cards. Card five showed the attitudes of other people. There was help here, though not in very reliable form. The Page of Pentacles was a wastrel, dissolute and impatient. He was not a good ally, but at the moment he was all she had. Lady Emily’s gaze strayed toward the writing desk. Later she would write, secretly and swiftly, to put him on his guard and to ask for his aid.

There were two cards remaining. They told her what she should do and the final outcome. The first was Strength, but it was reversed. She had to overcome her fears. If she did so then the final card promised her reward. It was the Six of Wands. Victory. Already she felt flushed with success and achievement. If she was patient, if she was brave, she would triumph.

In the depths of the house a clock struck eight. It was the only sound. Templemore House felt as though it was waiting, waiting to awaken, waiting for the lost heir to return. Lady Emily’s gaze went to the portrait over the fireplace. Her father. It was a great pity that, having lost his first wife in childbirth when his heir was born, he had failed to marry his mistress, Emily’s mother, until after her birth. For the first two years of her life Emily had been illegitimate. She glared at the fierce-looking man in his Georgian finery. He had been no more than a smug, licentious, arrogant scoundrel. How she hated him for the sexual excesses that had led to her being branded a bastard. Legitimizing her through eventual marriage to her mother had been too little, too late. It had barred her from the succession and turned her into an oddity, scorned by society as the daughter of a whore, laughed at behind her back.

The old fury rose in her. Her silver bracelets clashed as she sent the tarot pack tumbling with one flick of her wrist. The card showing the Fool fluttered into the fire, its edges curling in the flame. Damn her father and damn her half brother and damn his spoiled daughter who had deserved to die. Emily stood up. Lady Rose had been destroyed but now her daughter was coming home. The Wheel of Fortune was turning once again.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Seven of Swords: Do not give your trust too easily

MARGERY HAD SUGGESTED taking Henry to the Hoop and Grapes Inn for dinner. It was, as Henry pointed out, the haunt of footpads, highwaymen and any number of criminals. Margery had chosen it for the good food and because they knew her there.

“You do not strike me as the sort of female to frequent a place like this, Miss Mallon,” Henry said as they stopped in front of an ancient black-beamed and white-plastered building that boasted a battered wooden signboard above the door. “You seem far too respectable for such a flash house.”

“I’m far too respectable to frequent a bawdy house,” Margery said, “but you found me in one.”

“So I did,” Henry said. Amusement glinted in his eyes. “What an unusual woman you are, Miss Mallon.”

He opened the door to usher her inside. The air was so thick with the smell of pipe smoke it almost made Margery choke. Her eyes watered, and the smell of strong ale and warm bodies caught in her throat.

The taproom was packed with men and a few women. Total silence fell as they walked in. Margery saw the amusement deepen in Henry’s eyes. His lips twitched into a smile. “I’ve had warmer welcomes behind the French lines,” he murmured.

“They think you might be from Bow Street,” Margery said.

Henry looked offended. “They think I’m a Runner when I dress as well as this?”

Margery giggled. She took his hand and led him through to an inner parlor flickering with golden candlelight. There was a rickety wooden table in the corner by the fire. Henry held a chair for her before taking the one opposite.

“So you were a soldier,” Margery said, resting her elbows on the table and studying him thoughtfully. He looked entirely relaxed as though the unfriendly atmosphere of the Grapes had completely failed to intimidate him. “No wonder you’re not afraid,” she said slowly.

Henry raised a dark brow. “Were you trying to scare me by bringing me here?”

“Not scare you, precisely,” Margery said. She dropped her gaze and traced a circle on the top of the table with her fingertip. She had to admit that she had been testing him. She was curious; he gave away so little of himself. There was something watchful and closed about him, as though he held himself under the tightest control. A little shiver edged down her spine.

“My brothers drink here,” Margery said.

“Ah. You wish to introduce me to your family.” Henry sat back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. “Our acquaintance proceeds quickly, Miss Mallon.”

Margery laughed. “No, indeed. You need have no fear of that. I am simply being careful.”

“Very wise,” Henry said. “In case I fail to act as a gentleman should.” He was smiling but there was something challenging in his eyes that made Margery’s stomach curl and the heat rise through her blood. She tore her gaze away from his. At this rate she would not be able to eat a mouthful.

“I am relying on you to behave properly,” she said.

Henry gave her an ironic bow. “Not a cast-iron way of ensuring success,” he drawled.

“Do your best,” Margery said tartly and saw him grin.

“So, your brothers are criminals.” He slid his hand over hers where it rested on the table. His touch was warm and sent quivers of awareness trembling through her. “How stimulating.”

“Are you sure you are not a Runner?” Margery asked sweetly. She drew her hand gently from under his, not because she wanted to but because she knew she had to, if she was going to stick to the straight and narrow.

“Of course they are not criminals,” she said. Then honesty prompted her to qualify the statement. “That is, Jed is certainly not a criminal. He is a pot man at the Bear Hotel in Wantage. Billy runs his own business buying and selling cloth.” She ignored the other, less respectable things she knew Billy bought and sold. “And Jem…” She paused. “Well, I have to admit that Jem does sail a little close to the wind.”

Henry was laughing at her but she did not mind. There was warmth and admiration in his eyes that made her feel very happy inside.