The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding Book 2) Read online

  Jemima put her hand to her mouth. “The man who came after me?”

  Sir Richard shook his head. “Men who seek to gain from the work of others usually send a proxy to do their dirty work.” He regarded Jemima with a frown. “Poor child,” he said softly, before resuming in a more matter-of-fact manner, “Well, as your father’s home was en route from the docks to my own estate, I thought to warn him. Sadly, I was too late.” Reaching forward, he looked as if he might touch Jemima’s hand in sympathy. Maybe it was real. Jemima didn’t know what to think anymore. He desisted when she drew back, his look truly sorrowful, now. “My sincerest condolences, Miss Percy. I must have arrived within minutes of your capture. I was kneeling at your father’s side when one of the servants, who’d been tied up and locked in a cupboard, managed to make herself heard. As I released her bonds, she told me she’d heard a struggle and believed you’d been kidnapped. Immediately, I came looking for you. It wasn’t hard to understand I was just in time.” He didn’t say it in a manner that suggested he wished for thanks for being her hero.

  “Is my father….?”

  “He’s dead, Miss Percy. I’m so sorry.”

  Jemima didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t even cry; the shock was so great. He rose suddenly and called into the passage for brandy and within moments, Jemima was relishing the hot liquid that burned her throat though it gave little relief from her anguish.

  “Who are you, sir?” she whispered finally, putting the drained glass on a low table nearby and leaning back in her chair. “I mean, to my father? Are you friend or rival?” Her eyes told her he was a gentleman and her heart told her that she could trust him. But her father had just been murdered. Who could she trust?

  He picked up the brandy bottle to refill her glass but she shook her head. She needed all her wits about her if she wasn’t to collapse into a bundle of nerves. Her father had been murdered and she was next? The litany kept running through her brain.

  “My name is Sir Richard de Vere. I knew your father years ago as we shared the same interests.”

  Jemima studied him while he spoke. He was of athletic build, a handsome, well-dressed man with a square jaw and eyes that were doing a good job of reassuring her that he meant her no harm. “You were a child when I last visited him but I heard subsequently that the professor had a daughter who involved herself with his work. You’re not about much in society, are you?”

  Jemima shook her head. “I have no desire. I’ve always been content enough aiding my father in his endeavors.” She gave a little sob. “But now he’s dead. Murdered. He was such a kind and gentle man. Why would anyone do that?”

  She glanced up as a servant deposited a tray of gammon and various pies, together with a carafe of claret upon the table.

  “Sir Richard!” A tall stranger appeared in the doorway and Jemima drew back in fear. She was not used to being in the company of men and after what had happened today she didn’t think she ever wanted to confront another strange man. The sooner she could find sanctuary with her beloved aunt she’d devote the rest of her life to bringing up the little ones. She had no desire to venture forth into any kind of society that included unknown men who had no interest in her mind. It might be the kind of life that would appeal to her cousin Lucy but certainly not to Jemima.

  “Please, don’t be afraid, Miss Percy,” Sir Richard reassured her. “This is my manservant, John. I sent for him the moment we arrived and he’s ridden post haste from the tavern where we put up for the night.” He turned to deliver instructions to the servant, his words striking even more fear into Jemima. “Stay in the passage and be on the lookout for anyone who appears suspicious or who asks after a young woman. I’m glad you were able to come so quickly though I knew I could trust you to act with the greatest haste. Professor Percy has been murdered, and now his daughter is in danger.”

  “We must go back to Papa,” she whispered. “There are matters to attend to.” And then, because she still couldn’t believe it: “Are you quite sure he was really…dead?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Percy. There was nothing I could do to save him. The servants have been released, and they are tending to him. They’ll know who to summon and inform. Now, please, finish this. You’re shaking.” He refilled her glass with more brandy and pushed it towards her. “We can’t return to your home. Not until the perpetrators of this heinous crime are brought to justice. Someone is after you because you have what they want. I know what they want, and why, but I don’t know who they are and, until we do, you are in terrible danger. I take it you have the tablet?”

  She was conscious of the smooth, cold disc within her bodice and again her mind swam with doubt and fear. Should she trust him? He was nothing like her father’s evil-smelling murderer, and he had apparently saved her life but…? In her vulnerable state, she would of course be dangerously susceptible to his calm, capable manner. He exuded charm and a sense of safety and she was warming to him with every minute but that didn’t mean he wasn’t as bad as the others and as anxious to have what they had killed for.

  Jemima pushed back her shoulders as she looked Sir Richard squarely in the eye. There was nothing to suggest that he was on edge to acquire it; just that he wanted to protect her from it. His eyes were gentle and his smile surprisingly sweet. Surely not the hallmarks of a villain?

  With a sigh, she touched her décolletage where the cool clay tablet seemed to burn a hole in her chest. “I have no choice but to trust you, sir. Yes, I have it hidden on my person so please turn your head away, and I’ll give it to you.”

  When he complied, she dipped her hand into her bodice and retrieved the tablet from behind her stays.

  “Here it is, Sir Richard,” she said, holding it out.

  He took it, his brow furrowed as he ran a thoughtful finger over the indecipherable hieroglyphics. “You know what these words mean, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “You’d be the only one in the world, in that case. I’ve heard of your accomplishments from as far away as Constantinople where I’ve lived the past three years. I know that, since childhood, you have assisted your father, and that your knowledge of ancient languages is truly remarkable, crowned by your understanding of this ancient script.” He tapped the tablet, his wonder turning to a very real look of appreciation. “What an admirable achievement, Miss Percy.”

  Jemima glowed with pride before her pleasure was quashed by the knowledge of what this achievement had cost her father. “There are three hieroglyphics on this tablet I have not yet translated. Recently, a great discovery was made—” She broke off. “Have you heard of the Rosetta Stone?”

  “Of course. It will soon take its place in the Museum of British History. I have a similar stone.”

  “You have?” She leaned forward clasping her hands together in her lap to still them.

  “It’s smaller, and it has only two scripts, rather than three.”

  “I believe if I had access to the three—though perhaps I could manage with two— texts, I could unlock the meaning of the last of the hieroglyphics that have eluded me.”

  “And what would that mean for you now, Miss Percy?”

  His question seemed to suck the air from her lungs. Without her father, there could be no great resolution. Glancing up, she saw the interest in the man’s face. Should his look not be one of concern? What did he want? She realized she was telling him too much; trusting him too soon. Perhaps he was in competition with her father, eager to learn that for which he could claim credit for her father’s life’s work. Just like the man who had crept into their home and killed him.

  He answered for her. “The script is a code giving directions to a valuable treasure, is that not so, Miss Percy?”

  She avoided his eye. “My father will not be able to claim it now.”

  “He won’t, but we cannot allow someone undeserving to claim it.” He put the tablet on the table between them, caressing it with an elegant, long-fingered hand. “The man who kidnapped you is not behind your father’s murder, though he may have dealt the mortal blow. Someone with a great knowledge of ancient antiquities has discovered how close you are to learning a secret that will make him richer than his wildest dreams.”

  “That’s not how my father and I intended to profit from the discovery!” she burst out. “We were doing it in the name of England.”

  “Very noble, of course, but of greatest importance right now is learning who your enemy might be. And even before that, proper sustenance. Eat, Miss Percy! You have suffered a terrible shock. And I suggest you bespeak a room here for the night. You cannot return home, you do know that, don’t you?”

  “I have family—”

  He cut her off and obediently Jemima picked up her knife and fork as he indicated the food before them. “Miss Percy, whoever is pursuing you, knows that is likely to be the first place you will seek sanctuary.” He sounded regretful as he attended to his own food. “Please, trust me when I say that your safety is my first consideration. I truly believe that until you know who your father’s killer is, it is positively dangerous to risk returning to your nearest and dearest. A risk not only to you, but to them.”

  Deflated, Jemima pushed away her plate and sat back in her chair. Her father was dead, and now this man was telling her she couldn’t return to grieve with her relatives.

  “I have a very dear elderly aunt, my father’s sister, who lives nearby. She brought me up and would gladly take me in. And then there is my cousin and her family. She has two of the sweetest little boys and a daughter, nearly grown.” Jemima smiled at the memory of James and Henry, and of their elder sister Lucy, who was going to be presented this year and who was so excited—unlike Jemima had ever been—at the prospect of being a debutante. “Do you really think harm may come to them? Should we not warn them?”

  “You are fortunate, indeed, to enjoy such close and harmonious relations, but I think it unwise to make any contact just yet.”

  “But they will be frantic about my safety.”

  “I realize that, but I think you should consider their safety above the fears they will inevitably hold for you. Miss Percy, I have only just returned to this country. Soon I will be among friends who share your father’s passion, and who, I believe, will have their own ideas regarding the rivalries and jealousies motivating the perpetrator of your father’s terrible murder.” He leaned over to pour two glasses of claret, one of which he handed to Jemima. “I beg you to be patient, just for a few days, until we know the nature of the threat. Now,” he smiled kindly, “tell me about these beloved family members, if it will make you happier to dwell on the good fortune you enjoy, rather than the grim reality that has quite literally turned your life on its head.”

  Jemima saw the value in enlarging upon his knowledge of her circumstances, though it was clear he was well-informed about her father.

  “They all live in the nearby village about a mile from Papa’s cottage. Though I’ve read much about the world, I’ve never traveled beyond twenty miles of where I was born, and until I heard of the Rosetta Stone, hadn’t even wanted to go to London, though three years ago Papa suggested I might want to enjoy a taste of society as I’d just turned eighteen. I refused.”

  Sir Richard raised his eyebrows. “You’re so content with the single life, Miss Percy? A beautiful woman like you, who could snap her fingers and enjoy the devotion of any number of discerning gentlemen?” He smiled at her gasp of outrage. “Forgive me, but the unreality of our present situation forces me speak frankly, including on matters that are beyond the bounds of propriety. I shouldn’t have made reference to your physical attributes when they are clearly so unimportant, given your other abilities and your contented rustication.”

  Stiffly, Jemima replied, “I want to be recognised for my contribution to my father’s work rather than anything else.”

  “You are a most unusual young woman.” Sir Richard had nearly finished what was on his plate while Jemima had barely touched hers. He rose. “Please, excuse me, Miss Percy, while I arrange accommodation for you—and whatever necessities I can manage to supply. It’s understandable that you’ve lost your appetite but you must fortify yourself.”

  “For what lies ahead?” She shrugged. “I have no idea what lies ahead.”

  From the doorway, he gave her another appraising look. “You are even more beautiful when you blush like that, Miss Percy.” As if realising his words may be misconstrued, he cleared his voice and dropped his gaze a moment. “I should not have said such a thing, given your obvious mistrust.” He met her uncertain look with a level stare. “But I believe in saying what I think and believe and now I’ll leave you with the sincere promise that I am a gentleman and was your father’s friend. I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety and I swear to you that you can rest assured of my honourable intentions. I will not the kind of man to take advantage of the desperate situation in which you find yourself.”

  When he left the room, Jemima shifted uncomfortably upon her seat as she turned to look through the window. She was in the hands of a gentleman. She felt confident about that. A gentleman who’d saved her life, who understood her world, shared her love of antiquities, and who quite clearly admired her.

  Jemima had always been exceedingly wary of the few eligible gentlemen to whom she’d ever been introduced, hating the way their eyes flared with interest, or the suggestiveness of their voices when they flattered her.

  But Sir Richard was charming.

  The fact that she could think that, and be moved by the pleasure his compliments brought her when her father was dead not even a few hours, made her burn with shame.

  What kind of a sinner was she, really? How could she virtuously claim to be a blue-stocking interested in matters of importance when, in truth, her head could be turned so easily?

  And when she learned that Sir Richard had arranged with John to elicit the help of a female servant to procure everything a lady in her position would need, her pleasure in being so well looked after by this kind and trustworthy man knew no bounds.

  As she gazed at the tooth powder, night-rail, orange-flower water and clean chemise neatly laid out on her bed, Jemima was truly won over.

  And although she didn’t see Sir Richard again that night, and although her sleep wasn’t without nightmares, at least when she awoke, beset by grief, she was comforted by the fact she had a champion in Sir Richard de Vere.

  Chapter 2

  Alone in her room, Jemima sat on the bed and plucked at the travel-stained cloak that covered the clothes she’d worn yesterday. Snow had fallen during the night, and the temperature was bitter. At least she’d fled wearing something serviceable.

  But her memory of running away from her home conjured up the sight of her father lying injured – now dead - on his study floor, and, once again, she collapsed sobbing.

  Finally, after washing her face and tidying her hair, she made her way down to breakfast in the private parlor.

  Sir Richard was already seated at the laden table by the window. He glanced up at her with obvious compassion and Jemima nearly dissolved into tears yet again when he said, “Tonight is Christmas Eve, and I know your father was to be hosting a dinner.”

  Jemima nodded, as she tried to imagine the scene at home with Ben and Mrs Dawkins. They’d been part of the household for as long as she could remember and they’d be frantic about her, she knew.

  Sir Richard looked deeply troubled. “I’ve been considering the range of your father’s acquaintances. You say he’d not spoken to anyone directly of how close he was—you both were—to transcribing the tablet that would uncover a an unknown treasure.

  “A hundred chests of gold coins. That’s what the tablet hinted at.” Jemima stared out of the window before transferring her gaze to Sir Richard. “My father was killed for a hundred chests of gold coins that was intended to be for the glory of England,” she said bitterly.

  “Can you think of a jealous colleague who would go to such lengths to lay claim to it?”

  Jemima bit her lip, staring at the large, comforting hand that now enveloped hers. “I’m sorry to add this further burden to your pain, Miss Percy,” he murmured.

  Jemima had never experienced the keen awareness she felt in this man’s presence. But then, he’d rescued her and was continuing to protect her.

  Yet the kindness in his face, the gentleness of his mouth and the compassion in his eyes ignited a spark of something within her that was more than just gratitude.

  Of course, it was highly irregular that Jemima should spend even a moment alone with Sir Richard though he had clearly considered this, eliciting the chaperonage of the deaf old mother of the innkeeper, who sat in a chair in the corner sucking her gums while her knitting needles clicked.

  A number of times, they all pored over the clay tablet while Jemima pointed out markings that, without the reference table she’d devised through years of careful study of these exact hieroglyphics, she could only guess at.

  Both Sir Richard and John marveled at her knowledge, and under Sir Richard’s warm gaze, Jemima felt herself increasingly susceptible to every nuance of his voice.

  Of course, it had to end. She was living in a parallel universe; divorced from the realities and familiarities of all she’d held dear.

  If only it hadn’t been under such circumstances.

  On the second evening, she and Sir Richard were dining together when John burst into the room unceremoniously, dashing his hat from his head as he ran his fingers through his coarse brown hair.

  “M’lord, the landlord informs me there’s someone in the taproom making inquiries after Miss Percy, giving out her description an’ all.”

  Immediately, Sir Richard was on his feet, reaching for Jemima’s hand and pulling her to the door. “We’ll take the back stairs. Quickly!” There was no need to put into words what Jemima knew with terrifying certainty. If whoever was after her had been prepared to kill her father, he would show no mercy towards Jemima in order to lay claim to the tablet.