A Treacherous Proposition
Patricia Frances Rowell
HE TRUSTED NO ONE…And that was his strength…until murder linked his life with that of the victim's widow. Now Vincent, Earl of Lonsdale, found himself drawn to the haunting vulnerability displayed by Lady Diana Corby. Truly, this was his soul mate! But could she ever really accept him, a man who daily bedded down with deception and danger?Though secrets and lies beset her at every turn, Diana Corby would do whatever she must to protect her children–even if it meant allying herself with Lord Vincent. He might be a man wrapped in a mantle of mystery, but she couldn't turn down his offer of protection–or the shelter of his arms!
“I feel so frightened and alone. I don’t know whom to trust, which way to turn.”
Pain shot through Vincent’s heart. He knew Diana had no reason to trust him. Every reason not to. Still… He reached over and turned her face toward his. “I’m sorry you feel alone. Perhaps one day you will learn to trust me. I will do my utmost not to fail you.”
She gazed at him soberly, searching his eyes, not speaking. Her face was too close. Her eyes too deep. Her mouth… Before he realized he would do it, he covered it with his own. She tasted salty from her tears, soft and sweet. Her breath checked. For a moment she leaned into him.
And then she pulled away.
He touched the wound on her cheek, and reality intruded. This must go no further….
Praise for Patricia Frances Rowell
A Scandalous Situation
“The admirable hero and brave heroine are bound to win all but the stoniest heart.”
—Romantic Times
A Dangerous Seduction
“Rowell creates a wonderful Gothic atmosphere, using beautiful Cornwall and its history of smuggling and shipwrecks to enhance her story.”
—Romantic Times
A Perilous Attraction
“Promising Regency-era debut…a memorable heroine who succeeds in capturing the hero’s heart as well as the reader’s.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Ms. Rowell has a nice touch for penning likeable characters…a relaxing, romantic read.”
—Romantic Times
A Treacherous Proposition
Patricia Frances Rowell
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is for my auxiliary kids—
my stepchildren, John Parker and Cindy Lynn Rowell,
George Richmond and Shelia Rowell,
William Dean and Pamela Darlene Rowell,
Darlene Rowell and James Michael Hussmann,
and my daughters-in-law, Renee Marie
and Leigh Elizabeth Annand.
Thank you all for so enriching my life.
And, of course, every time, for Johnny.
A Word of Thanks
To all those who fought wars that seemed to make no
difference in the long run. The outcome changes nothing.
You did what you did. You gave what you gave.
You risked what you risked, and you did it with honor.
And we thank you.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Prologue
Yorkshire, England, April 1796
“But, Papa! Timothy is my friend!” The little boy’s lips quivered in spite of his determination to forbid them.
His father glared at the older boy standing beside him. “Your friend, do you think? Now what would a great boy of thirteen years want with a lad not quite eight? What have you given him?”
The younger boy’s gaze dropped, then slid sideways toward his friend, guilt in every muscle of his small body as he stared at the straw on the stable floor.
“Ah!” His father folded his arms.
The boy lifted his chin. “I only gave him my soldiers, Papa. Tim doesn’t have any.”
His father’s eyes narrowed as he studied the ragged Timothy. “And a boy your age likes to play with toy soldiers?” Suddenly he barked, “Let me see what is in your pockets.”
The older boy made a break for it, sprinting for the stable door, only to be captured by an under groom and hauled back before he had made good his escape.
The boy’s father grasped him by the collar and shook him. “Your pockets.”
Reluctantly, Timothy turned his pockets outward and two gold coins fell into the straw. The man stooped and retrieved them, his icy stare never leaving Timothy’s angry face. “So you steal from your friends?”
Timothy lifted his chin defiantly. “He’s not my friend!” He kicked straw at the younger boy. “You aren’t my friend. You’re just a baby.”
He turned and ran for the door again, and the boy’s father let him go. After the boy had disappeared from sight, the man knelt beside his son and looked into his tear-filled eyes. “I’m sorry, Vincent, but there is a hard lesson you must learn. When one has the power and wealth that will someday be yours, one must always be on guard. Always. The world is filled with people who will let you think they like you, but who, in fact, only want what you have. Do you understand?”
The boy nodded, his mouth firming into a hard line.
“Yes, Papa. I understand.”
Chapter One
London, England, April 1814
Vincent Ingleton, Earl of Lonsdale, leaned his shoulders against the stained wall, arms folded across his chest, and studied the lady’s face where she sat by the bed. Tired. Tired and sad. He narrowed his eyes and looked more closely. No, not sad exactly. In truth, she showed very little grief. Just an abysmal weariness. Little wonder in that. The man dying in the bed had not made her life easy.
Hardly even bearable for a lady of her breeding.
Vincent wrinkled his nose at the smell of blood and mildew pervading the room. The dying man coughed and fumbled at the bedclothes. “Diana?”
She reached out and took his hand while the doctor wiped blood away from his patient’s lips. “I’m here, Wyn.”
Vincent sighed and bowed his dark head. She had always been there when Wynmond Corby needed her. No matter what he had done, Lady Diana had been there for her husband. No matter how little Wyn had provided, she had always been a gracious hostess for him, quietly welcoming his friends into their home, even as Corby finally descended into these cramped, grubby quarters. She had been there for him.
No matter how little he deserved her.
But who was Vincent to say who deserved love? He had not much experience with that thorny subject.
He glanced at the two other men quietly conversing against the adjoining wall. Men like Wyn seemed always to have friends, even though he hadn’t two coins at a time to rub together in his pocket. And why not? He constantly had a quip on his tongue, a laugh in his eyes, the heart to put his horse at any fence in the country. Perhaps that was why Corby was, in fact, the only one of his old friends with whom Vincent still associated, very nearly the only friend he had.
The only one of them who had never sponged off him.
But having friends had not stopped someone from slipping a blade between Corby’s ribs.
The softest of sighs brought his gaze back to Diana. In spite of the fatigue, she looked as she always did, calm and serene, the small pool of candlelight in the dark room setting her smooth, pale chignon aglow. Even in a worn, dull-gray gown, she was beautiful. Truth be told, Vincent knew the reason he spent so much time at the Corby home had as much to do with Lady Diana’s company as it did that of her husband.
But of course, there was the other, more important, reason.
A barrage of coughing from the bed caused him to straighten and step closer. Blood spattered the sheets, and the doctor and Diana both moved quickly to lift Corby higher on the pillows. He gurgled and coughed again. Vincent and the two other men converged on the bed and gathered around the foot.
“Friends…dear…” Corby’s whisper made them all lean closer. He coughed again. “Please…” Another cough. More blood. “Care… Diana…my…my chil…” His eyes closed, and Vincent thought it was over, but Wyn rallied for one more breath. “I’ve…not…done…well.”
The next cough brought forth such a quantity of blood that the watchers knew no living man could have given it up. Wyn’s blond head rolled to one side and the doctor let it fall back against the pillows. “May God rest his soul.”
The stocky, sandy-haired man some years Vincent’s senior bowed his head. “Amen.”
“Amen.” The lanky younger gentleman standing next echoed.
The widow covered her eyes with one hand.
Vincent closed his eyes, clenched his teeth together and said nothing.
“Well…” The larger man took a long breath and a step away from the bed. “That’s that…” He walked to Diana and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Of course, my dear, you must not worry about the future for a moment. It will be my pleasure to see that you are provided for, just as Wyn asked. I will make arrangements and send a carriage for you as soon as the funeral is done.”
Something in the man’s voice pulled Vincent’s attention away from his moment of grief. He looked up sharply, his gaze focused on Diana’s face. This time he had no trouble at all identifying her expression.
Fear.
He moved around the bed in her direction. “Perhaps we should discuss this further, St. Edmunds. You might find it a bit awkward to explain those…er, arrangements to your wife.”
St. Edmunds turned a glare on him. “I can deal with my wife.”
“I’m sure you can, but it might also be awkward for Lady Diana.”
The tall man hesitantly opened his mouth to speak, running his fingers through his straight, light brown hair.
Vincent glanced at him. “Sudbury?”
The Honorable Justinian Sudbury studied his shining boots thoughtfully. “Going to be dashed awkward for all of us.”
“Gentlemen.” Diana stood and stepped away from St. Edmunds’s hand, her mien dignified. “I appreciate your concern more than I can say, but it is quite unnecessary. I will care for myself and my children. None of us need be embarrassed.”
At that moment the door opened and a snaggle-toothed, slatternly old woman shoved into the room and peered at the body on the bed. “So the cove’s finally stuck his spoon in the wall, has he? So who’s going to pay me the rent what’s due?”
Diana opened her mouth to answer, but the woman was looking at the gentlemen. Vincent shifted his gaze from Diana to the landlady. “What’s the damage?”
She named a figure and Vincent’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t try to gull me, old woman. These rooms are not worth a quarter of that.”
“Ha! They are when I ain’t been paid for four months—and another month due. Hadn’t been for the little ones, I’d have put ’em out last month.”
So much for no one’s being embarrassed. Vincent glanced at Diana. She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. He pulled his purse out of his coat pocket and counted the amount into the old woman’s hand and added an extra coin. “There. That will cover the next month.” He took a step toward her. “Now get out.”
Suiting the action to the threat, she made for the door. “Aye, ye black-haired devil. I’m going.”
Vincent returned to the discussion at hand. St. Edmunds and Sudbury were looking at Diana who was looking down at her clasped hands. Even in the dim light, Vincent could see that her cheeks were crimson.
“Thank you, my lord. Your kindness will give me the opportunity to make plans.” She still did not look at them.
“Nonsense!” St. Edmunds frowned. “We all know in what case you stand.”
Sudbury nodded. “Wyn was a very good fellow, but… No sense about money. Always under the hatches. Can you go to your family?”
“I’m sure that I can.” An expression of uncertainty flickered across Diana’s face. “I will write to my cousin immediately.”
Vincent gave that notion some thought. Not bloody likely. When her father had died, the title and estate had gone to a distant cousin—one who had not spoken to her family in years. And Wyn’s older brother was no less profligate than Wyn had been. No, someone was going to have to see to her welfare. Damn Wyn and his charm and his prodigal ways and his horses and his women! Damn him for putting her in this humiliating position.
Damn him for getting himself killed.
With an effort Vincent pushed the ache out of his heart. He would deal with it later. Now he must think. St. Edmunds could not be allowed to take control of Diana and her life. The man might be Corby’s friend, but he was not Vincent’s.
And Diana was wise to be afraid of him. Not only were his intentions highly questionable, St. Edmunds had a certain reputation amongst the libertines of London. Women did not fare well at his hands. Why Corby had let him dangle after Diana…
But that was neither here nor there. He needed to get her out of the room. They could hardly continue to discuss this delicate question before her as though she were a child who did not understand. “Lady Diana, are your children still sleeping? I thought I heard a cry.”
“Surely they are—it is well after midnight—but I should make certain. Meanwhile, you gentlemen will be more comfortable in the parlor. I shall just be a moment.” She left the room in a soft swish of skirts and Vincent turned to the doctor, reaching once more for his purse.
“Sir, I appreciate your assistance this evening. Can you further oblige me by having Mr. Corby made ready for burial?”
“Certainly. I regret that I could not be of better use, but a sliced lung…” The doctor shook his gray head sadly.
“Yes.” Vincent handed him several coins. “If this is not sufficient, send word to me at Lonsdale House, and also apprise me when it is done.”
The doctor bowed and left the room, and the three remaining men pulled themselves into a circle. St. Edmunds cleared his throat. “Now see here, Ingleton. It’s good of you to take care of these matters, but don’t think for a minute that it changes anything. I have told Lady Diana that I shall care for her, and I shall.”
Vincent folded his arms, drawing together his dark eyebrows. “And I have told you that I do not believe that is a suitable course of action.”
St. Edmunds sneered. “And I suppose you believe you are a more suitable guardian—with your reputation?”
“At least I do not have a wife.”
“I say,” Sudbury intervened. “Why don’t we ask Lady Diana? Ought to be able to chose who’s to take care of her. I would but…pockets quite to let, myself.”
Both of the other men favored him with annoyed glances. “You heard what she said,” St. Edmunds snarled. “She’ll insist that she can manage, but we all know she cannot.”
“No.” Sudbury sighed. “Can’t see how she could. Not a feather to fly with. Went through his fortune and hers, too. Four months’ back rent…!” He shook his head in disgust. “A governess, do you think?”
“With two children hanging on her skirts?” St. Edmunds grimaced. “Not likely. That is why I shall send my people…”
“No.” Vincent made no attempt to be conciliating. “If you send your carriage the whole of the ton will immediately draw unflattering conclusions about Lady Diana. I will see to it some other way. And that fact need go no further than this room.” He turned to glare meaningfully at Sudbury.
“No, no,” Sudbury hastily assured him. “Not a word. On my honor.”
St. Edmunds’s broad face had turned an angry red. He took a step toward Vincent. “Damn you, Lonsdale, I know what you really want.”
Vincent stopped him with a cold stare.
Sudbury shuffled his feet uneasily. “Come now, my lords. No way for gentlemen… Great God! His body lies dead in this very room.”
“Very well.” Vincent reached again into his coat pocket. He pulled out his hand and opened it. “We’ll settle it as gentlemen. What do you say to a game of hazard?”
“Throw dice?” St. Edmunds’s eyes took on a crafty look. “For a woman?”
Vincent made no answer. He just stood, his expression hard, and tossed the dice in one hand.
St. Edmunds laughed uneasily. “Well, I suppose gambling is nothing if not a gentleman’s sport.” His eyes narrowed. “But not with your dice.”
“As you wish.” Vincent let the implied insult pass. A mere diversion. St. Edmunds also had a reputation where dice were concerned. Not that anyone ever accused him outright of cheating. He was much too good a shot and much too vindictive to chance a duel. But Vincent’s past had long ago taught him how to deal with cheats.
His mouth crooked up slightly on one corner. “But hazard will take too long. We have only minutes before Lady Diana returns. I suggest one roll of the dice each—high number wins. I will roll with your dice, and you may roll with mine.”
Sudbury nodded sagely. “Bound to be fair.”
Vincent handed his dice to Sudbury. “If you will give these to Lord St. Edmunds…”
St. Edmunds eyes became slits in his face. “What are you about, Lonsdale?”
“Apparently you believe my dice too likely to win. I offer them to you. I will use yours.” Vincent’s crooked smile flickered briefly.
Fury and suspicion strong in his face, St. Edmunds reluctantly reached for the dice in Sudbury’s palm. Vincent held his own open hand between them. “If you will first give me yours, my lord….”
St. Edmunds slapped them into Vincent’s hand and grabbed the pair Sudbury held, speaking between his teeth. “Very well. Roll.”
Vincent nodded and went to one knee on the splintered floor. The others followed him down. He shook the dice and tossed them into the space between them.
Sudbury bent for a closer look. “Six! Two treys.”
St. Edmunds smirked. “Surprised, Lonsdale?” He cast Vincent’s dice and scowled.
“Three!” Sudbury called out. “Lonsdale wins.”
Vincent retrieved his own dice and left St. Edmunds’s on the floor.
“Surprised, St. Edmunds?”
Diana slipped into the room she shared with her children. Not since Bytham was born almost four years ago had she slept in the bed in which her husband’s body now lay. Sometimes she wondered if he had ever noticed. She tucked the covers snugly under her little son’s chin, smoothed his golden curls, and moved to his sister. Six-year-old Selena lay sprawled out of the cover, the flaxen hair splashed across the pillow mirroring her mother’s. Diana straightened her in the truckle bed, covered her and kissed her rose-colored cheek.
Dear God, how she loved them. The only lasting gift that Wyn had ever given her. The tears she had not shed for their father now sprung into her eyes. What would happen to her babies? In spite of her brave words, she had no idea how she might care for them. But almost anything would be better than to accept Lord St. Edmunds’s offer. She had not a doubt as to where his arrangements would lead.
No, as difficult as it would be, she would write to her father’s cousin. As the present head of the Bytham family he should be obligated to help her, but considering the longstanding feud between him and her father, she doubted that he would. At the very best she would become an unpaid servant in his house, and her children… She could not imagine what their lives as despised poor relations would be. She might even be separated from them. Oh, dear heaven.
Poor little fatherless mites! If Wynmond had been a poor husband, in many ways he was a worse father. Worse because, like most people who knew him, his children adored him. And he spent only enough time with them to ensure their adoration, disappearing for weeks at time afterward.
And he never understood that. In his way, he did love them—just as, in his way, he had loved her. The children would miss him. They would grieve as she no longer could. What comfort might she offer them? What would she tell them about their lovable, irresponsible father?
She went to her own narrow bed and felt under the mattress, sighing in relief. The last terrifying, precious gift of money still lay where she had hidden it. If indeed it could be called a gift. She prayed it had not been sent by Lord St. Edmunds. If he was the one who knew… An icy fist closed around her stomach.
She closed her hand tightly around the few remaining coins, the metal biting into her skin, the shame of possessing them gnawing at her heart. They would feed them, barely, for the next month, the month’s reprieve that Vincent Ingleton—to her complete surprise—had bought for her. Such a strange man. Dark and cold, with the face of a hawk. She had heard whispers about him, gossip of a misspent youth, a cruel nature. But Diana could hardly picture the man carousing. He had never been anything but solemn and polite in her presence. Solemn and polite and cold.
But three gentlemen awaited her downstairs. She must go to them. Blood stained her shabby gray gown, but Diana could not find the strength to change it. Perhaps they would go soon.
Go and leave her to her dead husband and her fears.
All three men rose politely as Diana came into the parlor, although St. Edmunds’s expression remained dark. He was not accustomed to losing. Neither was Vincent. But unlike St. Edmunds, Vincent took care not to underestimate his opponents.
He ignored the man and directed his question to the lady. “How did you find the children?”
“Sleeping, as I had hoped.” She rubbed her temples as though they ached. Sighing, she sank into a threadbare chair. “Thank you, all of you, so much for coming. I will let you know when I have made the funeral arrangements.”
“Anything at all I can do…” Sudbury leaned to kiss the hand she extended as he approached her.
“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.”
St. Edmunds cleared his throat. “Of course. If I may render any service at all, you have but to send word.” He glared at Vincent. “Your servant, Lady Diana…my lord… Sudbury.”
With a nod at Vincent, Sudbury followed St. Edmunds out the door.
When Vincent sat rather than follow them, Diana sent him a startled glance. With an effort he dredged up his crooked half smile. “I have persuaded Lord St. Edmunds to let me assist you with your future plans.”
The look of relief which rewarded that statement flickered after a moment and one of wariness replaced it. Not quite knowing how to reassure her, Vincent glanced down at the floor, only to see a cockroach emerge from under his chair. With an oath, he brought his boot down on it.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Once again color flooded Diana’s cheeks. “I cannot get rid of the creatures, no matter how much I clean. I find them everywhere.”
“And little wonder, in this hole.” Vincent stood and walked to where she sat, and stood looking down at her, forcing down the anger that rose in him. “My lady, you are not to blame for the roaches any more than you are to blame for the unpaid rent. I knew Wyn. I knew him well, and my heart is sore for the loss of him. But I also know his nature. He should never have brought you to this.” He glared around the room. He’d be damned if he would leave her here. “And I see no reason for you to stay here another minute. You are not even safe in this neighborhood. And with a dead body in the next room, the cockroaches and rats will… You cannot stay. Go and gather up what you need for yourself and the children, and I will take you to a hotel.”
“That’s…that’s very kind, my lord, but not necessary. I have survived here very—”
“Diana, spare me.” Vincent glowered in her direction. “You have survived, but only that. The moment that hag of a landlady spreads the word that you are now alone, you will cease to have any security at all.” He softened his tone. “I understand your pride, but you must remove yourself and your children from these quarters. Now go and collect what you need. I promise you will be safe with me.”
And from him, more was the pity.
She sat for a moment more with eyes closed and one hand pressed to her mouth. At last she drew in a deep breath and stood. “You are correct, of course. For months I have slept with a pistol by my hand. I will go with you. My concern must be for Selena and Bytham. If you will wait, it will take only a few moments.”
Vincent watched her through the door and began to pace the small room. Why had Wynmond Corby done this to her, to his children, to himself? Vincent shuddered. He had been so close to following the same path, so close to bringing himself to utter ruin. And he still wasn’t sure why.
Nor exactly why he had mended his ways, for that matter.
“I believe this will do for a day or two.” Diana came into the room dragging two small valises. “Now I must get the children up and dress them.”
“May I help?” Vincent moved toward the bedroom. “I know very little about youngsters, but perhaps I can assist.”
The first smile he had seen since he had helped carry a bleeding Wynmond Corby home softened her face. “It is not that difficult. Perhaps you can get Bytham into his clothes. He is such a heavy sleeper—it will be a struggle.”
His brief smile answered hers. “Surely I will prove equal to stuffing a small boy into his britches.”
Her eyes twinkled for an instant. “We shall see.”
He had done surprisingly well with it, Diana thought as the hackney turned into St. James and headed toward Fenton’s Hotel, even if his lordship’s previously crisp neckcloth did now hang around his neck in crumpled folds. Thank heaven he had been willing to help her. She felt completely unequal to the task of wrestling with a cross, half-asleep, small boy. Getting Selena, now sleeping, slumped between them on the seat, dressed had almost proved more than she could do. When had she last enjoyed a sound night’s sleep? Diana could not remember. She roused herself when she realized his lordship was speaking to her.
“I desired the doctor to have the body prepared for the funeral. If you will tell me what you want, I will convey your wishes to him.”
“Oh, thank you.” Diana struggled to focus. “You are very kind. Right now I am not sure…” She rubbed at the pain in her temple.
“You needn’t think of it now. Tomorrow is time enough for that.” Vincent shifted slightly to move the dozing Selena away from his pocket, retrieved his overworked purse once again, and settled the child back against him, holding her upright. He removed a few coins and handed the purse to Diana. “There should be enough here to provide for any services you need tonight and in the morning. I had rather not be seen handing it to you.”
How thoughtful of him, even though Diana had little doubt that his championship of her would soon be all over London—with the attendant gossip. She should not take any more money from him. She really should not. But the pittance she had in her purse would hardly cover a night at Fenton’s, let alone meals for the children. Once more she must bite her tongue and swallow a large chunk of her pride with it. “Thank you, my lord. I will repay you as soon as I am able.”
He stared at her for a moment with sharp black eyes, and Diana experienced a twinge of alarm. Then he shrugged slightly. “Of course. In the meantime, until you have made your plans, I will settle with Fenton’s.”
The carriage drew to a stop and Vincent opened the door. He took Bytham from Diana and helped her down, then gave the boy back to her, lifted her daughter into his own arms and paid the driver. As they made their way into the hotel, Selena snuggled her face against his neck.
Diana collapsed onto the nearest sofa while her escort approached the desk. In a matter of minutes, the child draped limply across his shoulder, he had arranged for rooms with a parlor, turned the luggage over to the porter, instructed a maid to assist Diana with the children and seen the three of them upstairs.
And in a few more minutes he had invited her to send for him if she needed him, promised to call on her on the morrow and bowed himself out of the room, no doubt relieved to be rid of the three of them.
Diana fell into bed in a blur of fatigue.
Chapter Two
There was nothing for it.
He would have to ask for her help. And God! How he hated to do it.
Hadn’t he caused enough trouble for her in the past? Vincent trotted up the stairs of the town house and lifted the knocker. A dull booming on the other side of the door rewarded this effort and immediately thereafter a startled face appeared in the portal.
“Why, Lord Lonsdale! We haven’t seen you this age.” The tall, white-haired butler stepped back and bowed Vincent into a small but elegant entry.
“Good morning, Feetham.” Vincent nodded at the butler and handed his hat and gloves to a footman. “Is Lady Litton in?”
“I’m not sure, my lord, but I will inquire.” Feetham nodded at the footman who disappeared up the stairs.
Vincent carefully schooled his face to show no expression. What the butler meant was, of course, that he did not know if his mistress was willing to see Vincent. The footman reappeared in a matter of minutes.
“Her ladyship is in the morning room,” he reported. “She asks that you come up.”
Vincent nodded to Feetham and followed the footman back up the stairs and into a cheerful chamber, bright with sunlight.
The dark-haired lady on the sofa, a lady only a few years Vincent’s senior, smiled warmly and held out a hand. “Vincent! What brings you here?” A tiny wrinkle formed, marring the perfect skin between her eyes. “Is something amiss?”
“No, my lady.” Vincent bent and kissed his stepmother’s smooth fingers. “At least not…”
“Well! Will wonders never cease?”
Vincent turned toward the fair-haired gentleman who had just sauntered through the door and bowed. “Good morning, Lord Litton.”
“We haven’t seen you since Helen and I married.” Adam Barbon, Viscount Litton, extended a hand, which Vincent shook.
“For which, I am sure, you are suitably grateful.” Vincent tried to smile.
“Now, Vincent, don’t talk so. You know you are welcome here.” Vincent was relieved to hear that. He had not been sure. Helen Barbon reached for a fresh cup on the tray just provided by the footman. “Do you still take your coffee black?”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you.” Vincent took the cup and marveled that she truly seemed to mean what she said. How could anyone be that forgiving? But he had hoped she would be. Otherwise, he would not have come.
Had it not been for Diana, he would not have come at all.
He only hoped his stepmother’s new husband would find himself able to command an equal degree of forbearance.
His lordship grinned. “I’ll hold my gratitude in abeyance until I discover what has brought you here this time.”
Vincent took a sip of coffee, struggled with the words and finally choked them out. “I need your help.”
One of Litton’s eyebrows rose. “Do you, indeed?”
“I would not ask… I dislike troubling you, but…” Vincent felt his mouth tighten. “I am not asking for my own sake.”
“Heaven forfend that you should ask your family for help.”
The sarcastic tone caused Vincent to look at his stepfather more closely, his eyebrows drawing together. He half rose. “If you had rather I not, I will immediately relieve you…”
Litton waved the comment away. “Oh, sit down, sit down. Tell us who needs what.”
“Pay him no mind, Vincent.” Helen reached out to place a calming hand on Vincent’s sleeve. “You know how he is. We are happy that you asked. Now…who needs our help?”
Setting aside for the moment that he had never understood how Adam Barbon “is,” Vincent directed his gaze at Helen. “It is a lady.”
“A lady?” Litton looked at him with renewed interest. “I begin to have hope.”
Vincent felt the blood heating his cheeks. “You misunderstand me, my lord. Not…not my lady.”
“Hmm.” Litton held out his cup for his wife to replenish.
“Who, Vincent?” Without asking, Helen took Vincent’s cup and added hot coffee to it. “Is it someone I know?”
“I’m sure you at least know of her. I am speaking of Lady Diana Corby.”
“Ah. Yes, I have a slight acquaintance with her. One does not see her out anymore.”
“Little wonder in that.” Litton helped himself to a pastry from the tray. “With that wastrel for a husband, she could hardly afford it.”
“Lady Diana no longer has a husband.” Vincent looked back at two pairs of startled eyes. “Wynmond Corby was killed last night.”
“Oh, my. How awful.” Helen covered her mouth with one hand. “He left her with small children, I believe.”
Vincent nodded.
“I don’t suppose he left anything to care for them?” Litton looked at Vincent, eyebrows raised.
“No, sir. That is the difficulty. Lady Diana is allowing me to assist her temporarily.” His face got warmer as his stepfather’s eyebrows rose higher. The devil take him. It had been hard enough to leave her last night without… “Now, my lord. Damn it, Litton, that is not the way of it!”
Helen sighed. “Don’t tease, Adam.”
“No, no. I’m not teasing.” Litton sobered. “It is just very… How did this come about, Vincent?”
Vincent related the whole sorry tale.
“And he had no will?” Litton studied Vincent seriously.
Vincent shook his head. “Apparently not. Wyn always did seem to think he would live forever.”
“Damned irresponsible young jackanapes!” Litton scowled. “With a wife and children and he…”
Vincent nodded. “Just so. But this is the first thing he has ever asked of me—and perforce the last—and I intend to oblige him.”
“And the lady herself?” This time Litton’s expression was not sardonic, simply inquiring.
“She is a very fine lady.” That was all that Vincent intended to say about that.
“I see.” Litton pondered for a moment, his expression speculative. “It is going to look very havey-cavey, you know, your providing for her. I suppose you can afford it?”
Vincent waved the question away. “Oh, yes, but it may not come to that. She intends to write to her cousin. It is his duty as head of her family.”
“Won’t do it.” Litton shook his head. “Her father was the only Bytham worth his salt, and his cousin hated him. So what will you do?”
“For the long run, I cannot yet say. That is why I need your help. The rooms where they were living are infested with cockroaches, rats and a corpse. Lady Diana could not stay there with the children. I took her to Fenton’s for the night, but that is not a good situation, either. It would be, however, much worse to bring her to my house.”
He could never trust himself for that.
“Of course,” Helen broke in. “I understand what you need. Bring her to me. She and the children may stay with me until she can make other plans.”
“I would be very grateful. I hope it will not be for long.” Vincent sighed with relief. “I will see to the funeral, but it would be a great kindness if she had someone with her.”
“She will be more than welcome. I will write her a letter immediately and invite her. You may carry it to her when you leave.”
Helen went to her desk, pulled out stationery and began to write. Litton gazed at Vincent speculatively. “Do you need help with the funeral?”
“I think not, but thank you.”
Litton nodded silently, but continued his contemplation of Vincent. Vincent began to feel uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable. He wondered if the man was remembering the brawl Vincent had provoked between the two of them. Or the time that he— He shoved the thought aside. There were so many unpleasant things Adam Barbon might be thinking about Vincent’s past. It was a wonder he tolerated him in his house at all.
But Vincent had had enough of his taciturn scrutiny. “You have another question, my lord?”
Litton shook his head. “No. I was just thinking how little we know of you now.”
Vincent smiled. If only his lordship knew how little.
By the time the knock sounded on the door of their rooms, the children had completely exhausted the entertainment possibilities of Fenton’s Hotel. Had she been there alone, Diana would have been reveling in the luxury of the service, the fine furnishings, the wholesome food. The basic cleanliness. It had been so long since she had enjoyed those comforts.
But cooping youngsters up in a hostelry with little outlet for their energy presented a challenge. Diana was nearing the end of her wits as to how to keep them occupied for the rest of the day. At present she had them working in their copy books in the sitting room, but they would soon grow restless.
They knew something was wrong.
She had not yet found the courage to tell them about their father. The crushing reality of her situation had simply drained her of the strength needed to find the words. What could she tell them about what would now happen to them? She didn’t know.
Even the stipend Wyn had earned at the Foreign Office was now gone. Or what she had seen of it. It had been little enough, but it had paid her a small household allowance. Sometimes. And the rent. Occasionally. How could Wyn have gotten four months behind? The position should have provided for their basic needs, but had it not been for the other money…
Oh, God! And what was she going to do about that?
And what must she do about the man standing in the door?
Other than invite him in.
“Good morning, my lord. Come in. Children, say good morning to Lord Lonsdale.”
Bytham and Selena jumped to their feet and chorused a “Good morning, my lord,” accompanied by a marginal bow and a creditable curtsey. One advantage of the small home to which they had been accustomed was that they often saw visitors, as children in a larger house did not. Diana could depend on them to know their manners. Besides, she knew the newcomer offered a welcome distraction from copying.
She gestured them back to their work. “Please sit, my lord. Should I ring for some tea?”
“No, thank you. I just had coffee with my stepmother. I have come to bring you this note from her and to discuss…” He glanced at the children. “The other matters.”
“Some wine, then?” When he shook his head, Diana took a seat at one end of the comfortable sofa and he sat in a chair at her elbow.
She took the note and glanced at the name in the corner. “Lady Litton is your stepmother? I had not realized that.”
“Yes, she married Litton quite a while after my father died.”
She broke the seal and perused the message. “Oh! Oh, how kind she is. She invites the children and me to stay with her.” She met his lordship’s expressionless gaze over the top of the note. “I’m sure that you brought this about. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but… How can I—a virtual stranger—impose on her with two children?”
His expression did not change. “How can you not?”
“How indeed?” Diana studied her hands where they lay in her lap. “I cannot stay here at your expense—and certainly not at my own. I cannot return to our rooms. They have likely been stripped by now. I cannot go to my cousin without knowing he will take us in—and in truth I have no confidence that he will. Oh, God, Vincent! What am I to do? There is always St. Edmunds, I suppose, or someone like him, but…”
He gazed at her intently, as though to see into her mind. “I cannot believe that you are willing to seek a protector.”
“No. No! My children… Do you know what that would mean to them?”
“So accept the invitation for now. We will discover a solution to the problem in time.”
Feeling something brush his sleeve, Vincent looked down to find himself gazing into the upturned face of little Selena where she leaned against the arm of his chair. Storm-gray eyes, the image of her mother’s, stared back at him.
He cast a startled glance at Diana, but before she could speak, Selena blurted, “You carried me. I remember.”
Vincent remembered, too. Never having been around children, he had never had an experience quite like it. The weight of the soft little body on his arms, the trusting little head on his shoulder, the sleepy murmurs. Surprisingly pleasant, in spite of the awkward circumstances. Would he ever hold a child of his own? A moment’s sadness flowed through him. It did not seem likely.
“Selena…”
Before her mother could send her back to copying, the girl hurried on. “Where is my papa?”
Alarm shot through Vincent. How the devil was he to answer that question? He cast a frantic glance at Diana, only to see a moment of panic on her face. In an instant it was gone, leaving the tranquility he had always seen there—and deep, dark circles under her eyes.
She held out an arm to her daughter. “Come here, Selena. Bytham…come and sit with Mama.”
The small boy slid off his chair and slowly crossed the room to his mother while his sister edged closer. Both youngsters clearly sensed the distress of the adults. For a heartbeat Vincent allowed himself to feel relief that it was not his place to tell them their father was dead.
And then he recollected the moment of consternation that had broken Diana’s calm. She knew no more what to say than did he. And she looked to be at the end of her endurance. He should at least support her. Vincent moved to sit beside her on the sofa and lifted Bytham onto his lap. The wiry little boy squirmed himself into place, and Selena climbed up beside Diana. Diana drew in a deep breath. After a second’s hesitation, Vincent lost the battle within himself and slipped an arm around her shoulders.
After a moment she took one hand of each child and pressed a kiss on it. “I have something sad to tell you, children.” Her voice choked a bit and she swallowed. “Your papa…your papa is dead. We will not see him again.”
“Not ever?” Selena’s diminutive brows came together. “Never?”
“No, my dearest. That is what it means to be dead. He has…he has gone away into heaven.”
Vincent wondered briefly if that had, in fact, been Wynmond Corby’s destination. He hoped so. For all his shortcomings, Wyn had been a loyal friend.
But how could he have done this to his family?
Selena’s face puckered. “But I don’t want him to be dead. I want him to come back!”
She burst into tears and Diana pulled her daughter into her lap, resting her cheek against the child’s hair and rocking her gently. Tears streamed down her own cheeks. Bytham, not quite understanding, but seeing his mother and sister in tears, began to wail. Diana freed a hand to clasp one of his, and Vincent held him closer.
God! How could these tiny beings stand such loss? How could Diana bear to see her children so unhappy? She had already borne so much. What could he say or do for her? Able to think of nothing else, Vincent circled the three of them in his strong arms, willing his strength to shelter them.
Only later did he feel the tears on his own face.
Strange. Vincent could not remember the last time he had shed tears. In fact, he could not remember the last time he had felt any strong feeling for someone else at all. He made a policy of not having strong feelings for others. That way lay danger. Detachment provided a much better wall against the world.
But Diana was different.
He had known that for months, watching her contend with the miserable circumstances of her life—always calm, always patient and kind, always lovely. Had he actually embraced her? How often in recent weeks he had longed to do that? To comfort her. To offer her protection. To feel her sweet body against his.
But his relatively new, carefully nurtured sense of honor would not let him. Even had she not been the wife of his only friend, he would not have done it. Not even if he thought that she would have someone like him. His own existence remained too precarious. He must be careful.
This afternoon the children sat primly across from them in the carriage, dry-eyed but tense. Diana had dressed them in their best— Selena in a simple white dress and Bytham in short britches and jacket. Vincent wished they would smile. How did one play with children and make them laugh as he had seen Wyn do?
Vincent had no idea. His father had taken him fishing from time to time and taught him to ride and hunt and other manly arts, but he had never been one to play. Perhaps the burden of so many children lost, so many babies buried, had taken the joy out of being a father for him. But he had always defended and forgiven Vincent’s every misdeed.
Even when he should not have.
Especially when he should not have.
Vincent’s gaze shifted to Diana. She stared out the carriage window, apparently lost in thought. At least he was able to bring her to the Litton mansion in the comfort and discretion of the Litton carriage rather than a dirty hackney. No one would think ill of his escorting her there.
Or perhaps they would. He could not put a stop to that. The ton always hungered for something to gossip about. If he and Diana did not come upon a solution to her problems soon, society would find a great deal about them to discuss.
One more thing to be careful about.
As the carriage pulled up before the stylish house, Diana dragged her gloomy thoughts away from the unprofitable channels they had followed for the last night and day. There was no benefit in going over and over the same ground until she had heard from her cousin. Perhaps he would prove to be more magnanimous than everyone expected, and the anxiety would have been for nothing. In the meantime, she would take advantage of Lady Litton’s hospitality to give her attention to her children’s disrupted lives.
The carriage door opened and Vincent Ingleton stepped out and turned to assist her. As she leaned forward, their gazes met. The intensity in his black eyes suddenly took her breath. Why had she never noticed… Flustered, Diana paused. He was hardly what the world would call a handsome man—too dark, too angular, too… Too what? Too predatory. That was it. Much too much the bird of prey. And he was looking at her…
How?
Before she could decide, his strong hand grasped hers and helped her to the ground. She stepped back and watched him lift the children out, aware all at once of the muscles moving under his black coat and the way the sunlight glistening off his ebony hair set colors dancing amid the shining locks.
Who was this man? This man to whom she had entrusted herself and her little ones? Abruptly, Diana realized how little she knew about Vincent Ingleton. Only that he had been Wyn’s friend. That he treated her courteously.
That he had summarily taken the decisions she should be making from her.
While she was sorting through these disturbing reflections, he had picked up Bytham in one arm and offered her the other. Cautiously she took the arm and Selena’s hand, and he led them up the stairs and into the entry.
“Lady Diana. Welcome.”
Diana turned toward the feminine voice. Good heavens! This was Lord Lonsdale’s stepmother? She could not be but a few years older than he was.
The lady approached and held out her hand. “I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Corby’s death.”
“Thank you. I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude to you for inviting us to stay.” Diana accepted the extended hand and had her own patted gently.
“I only hope I may make this terrible time a bit easier for you. Do you know my husband, Lord Litton?”
Diana smiled at the gentleman who had emerged from a doorway and was presently engaged in tickling Bytham’s ear. Bytham, finding himself surrounded by strangers, was overcome with a fit of shyness and hid his face against Vincent’s shoulder.
Lord Litton left off the tickling and bowed. “Your servant, my lady. Who is this fine fellow and this lovely maiden?”
“My son, Bytham, my lord, and my daughter, Selena.”
Selena managed a bashful curtsey, but Bytham apparently decided that good manners were beyond him at the moment. He clung tighter to Vincent.
“Oh, dear.” Diana smiled ruefully. “I fear he needs a nap.”
“Of course.” Lord Litton patted the boy’s shoulder. “He’ll come about.”
Diana thought she detected something wistful in his expression, and that of Lady Litton, as well, when they smiled at the children. Lady Litton gestured to a young woman standing a few feet away. “Alice will take them upstairs and get them settled.”
The maid stepped forward and offered her hand to Selena, who cast a doubtful look at Diana, but took the hand. Vincent attempted to shift Bytham to the floor, but stopped when the child let out an unhappy shriek.
“It is the strange surroundings.” Diana held out her arms. “Here, give him to me. I’ll go with Alice.”
But Bytham was having none of it. He fastened his arms around Vincent’s neck and hung on for dear life.
“Bytham!” Fatigue and worry made her voice sharp. What was she to do with the little rascal? “Now, Bytham…”
Lord Litton let out a crack of laughter. “You seem to have an admirer, Vincent. One who especially admires your neckcloth.”
Vincent looked down at the chubby fist clutched in the ruined folds of his starched cravat and grinned crookedly. “Obviously a man of good taste. He liked the one I wore last night, too. Never mind, Diana. I shall carry him up for his nap. But what should I do if he does not wish to nap?”
Diana lifted her hands helplessly. For some reason she just could not focus on the problem. “I—I don’t… I’m sorry, my lord. I better come with you.”
“Never mind.” Vincent seemed to sense her exhaustion. “I will rely on my own resources. Bytham and I will settle it between us.”
Diana nodded gratefully and followed Lady Litton to the drawing room.
In the end the resources Vincent relied on were a sugar cake provided by Alice and a promise of a ride in the park on a real horse. He had always found that there was nothing like bribery to achieve one’s ends. Descending the stairs to the drawing room, he tried, with limited success, to straighten his neckcloth. It was coming to his attention that children were a mixed blessing.
At the door of the drawing room he encountered Diana and Helen on their way upstairs. Litton intercepted him. “They are off to discuss mourning clothes—a clear indication that you and I should repair to my club.”
His club? His lordship had never before invited Vincent anywhere, let alone to a public place. Of course, Vincent had never given him much opportunity. What might this portend? “Thank you, my lord, but after my recent engagement with Corby’s heir, I fear I’m not fit to be seen abroad.”
Litton made short work of the objection. “Never mind that. It will only take a few minutes to put you to rights. You may borrow one of my stocks.”
Considerably astonished by this magnanimous offer, Vincent made the necessary restorations and the two of them strolled off in the direction of St. James Street. More than a little wary, Vincent responded politely to the commonplace conversation initiated by his stepfather and wondered about the real purpose of the overture.
As they turned into the busier streets, the crowds thickened, forcing them to slow their steps. A man wearing a shabby brown coat and boots made a misstep as he approached Vincent and lurched into him. “I say! Sorry, guv’nor.”
Vincent regained his balance and the man tipped his hat and continued down the street without looking back. Vincent made a grab for his pocket.
“Purse still with you?” Litton stopped and followed the man with his gaze. “Shall we give chase?”
“No.” Vincent patted all his pockets. “I seem to have everything.”
“Amazing. Of course, had he taken your coin, he would have passed it to a confederate by now.”
“Undoubtedly.”
They walked on in silence for a few more steps before Litton cleared his throat. “I cannot help but wonder, Vincent…”
Ah. The real purpose of this jaunt at last. “Sir?”
“You were close friends with Corby since you came down from Oxford, were you not?”
“Yes, sir.” No need saying more than necessary.
“I have heard some talk about him—talk unbecoming his position at the Foreign Office.” Litton glanced at Vincent, his eyes narrowed.
“Oh?”
“Come now, Vincent. You are bound to have heard it, too. Did Corby support the return of Bonaparte to the throne of France?” Litton stopped walking and turned to look at Vincent.
“He never said as much to me,” Vincent replied with complete truth and no hesitation.
Unfortunately, Adam Barbon was a difficult man to deceive. He gazed at Vincent from under lowered brows. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
After a moment Litton’s expression cleared and he started walking again. Several steps later he glanced at Vincent. “I suppose this is none of my affair. What the devil am I to you? A stepfather by marriage or some such cockamamie thing?”
Vincent shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest notion.”
“Nor do I, but Helen and Charles and I—such as we are—are all the family you have. I have been a bit concerned that you may have involved yourself in that business. No, no…” Litton held up a restraining hand as Vincent opened his mouth. “You needn’t answer. I don’t wish to trap you into an admission—nor necessitate a lie. It is just that…well, we are not unaware of the changes you have made. We would hate to see anything happen to you such as happened to Corby.”
Indeed? They considered themselves his family? Had followed the changes in him? He didn’t know they had noticed. Vincent did not know what to make of that. “I… Thank you. I appreciate your thought. However, I assure you that I am no supporter of Bonaparte. On the contrary. I very much wish to see him remain on Elba. Or much farther afield than that.”
Once again what he said was completely true.
As they stepped up to the door of Litton’s club, he slipped his hand into his pocket, just to be sure.
The crinkle of folded paper assured him that the note that had been passed to him was still there.
Chapter Three
Diana sat before the window while she combed her damp hair and wondered what to do until bedtime. Already the small wisps around her face had dried to their silver-gold hue, but it would take the thick, waist-length mass an hour more to dry so that she could braid it for bed. For the first time in years she had had a real bath in a real tub—one for which she had not carried up the water nor carried it away nor set up the screen. In the rooms she shared with Wyn, she had nowhere to wash but the crowded kitchen.
She must beware of becoming too accustomed to such luxury. She had no idea how long her stay here would last, nor what would follow it. But for now she would revel in the fact that her children were tucked safely away between clean sheets in the care of a nursemaid, and that a clean bed awaited her clean body.
Somehow Lady Litton—no, not Lady Litton. She had asked Diana to call her Helen. Somehow Helen had found the mourning clothes she had worn after Vincent’s father had died, presenting them with the diplomatic comment that it would be a waste to order more for Diana. Only minor adjustments had been required for Diana to use them. Most of them were black, of course, but still much finer and more stylish than what she had been wearing.
She looked well enough in black—not that anyone would be seeing her. Except perhaps the Earl of Lonsdale. Diana flushed at the thought. Now why should she think of Vincent Ingleton in that context? True, he was being very kind to her, but only as a friend of Wyn’s.
Wasn’t he?
Surely what she had seen in his eyes did not mean…
He had never seen her except in stained, worn-out clothes, exhausted with caring for her children in the face of daunting poverty. Try as she might, it had become impossible to keep up appearances. She was far too thin. So worn-looking. How could he possibly want her?
Before she could come to any conclusion on the matter, a light tap sounded at the door. She called, “Come in,” and one of Helen’s maids put her head through the door.
“I have a note for you, my lady. A boy brought it ’round to the kitchen a short while ago.”
Diana’s heart went cold. Not another note! How did he know where she was? What did the wretch want? What could he possibly want? She was only too afraid that she knew. Her hand trembled as she took the paper, but she managed an automatic thank you as the maid curtseyed and took herself off. Carefully, Diana broke the seal and held the letter nearer to the candle.
My dearest Lady Diana—
My condolences on the loss of your husband. A great tragedy for you, I’m sure. But I see that you have been taken under the aegis of Lord Lonsdale. How fortunate for you.
And for me. I believe the time draws near that you may repay me for the little gifts I have provided. And of course, for keeping my knowledge to myself. That has become even more important now, has it not? So difficult for Selena and Bytham to lose both their father and their mother. Who knows what their future might become?
I believe your, ah—association?—with Lord Lonsdale will provide just the opportunity I have been seeking. As always, I expect you to maintain your silence on these matters as I have maintained mine. I’m sure you understand the necessity.
Until then, I remain unwaveringly yours—
Deimos
P.S.—I have included no gift, as it is obvious your every need is being provided.
Diana crumpled the note and dropped her face into her hands. Damn him. Damn him! Always a threat in every sentence—and now also innuendo. As though she and Vincent… But then, Deimos, whoever he might be, had always made her feel like a whore. She very much feared he intended to use his gifts to make her one. Had she but known who he was, she might have flung the money back at him, even if it meant starving. But that was fantasy. She could not let her children starve.
And she did not know who he was.
Deimos. The Greek god of fear. He had chosen his sobriquet well. The fear of what he knew ate at her every second of every day. Fear for herself. Fear for her children.
How dare he use their names!
How dare he sully their sweet innocence with his poisonous pen. If ever she discovered his identity…
Perhaps she was capable of killing.
The man in the shabby brown coat tipped his chair back against the wall and took a long pull from his tankard of ale while Vincent sketched circles in the cheap liquor spilled on the greasy table. “Nay, my lord. I ain’t found out who done it yet, but it wasn’t none of our lads. Wouldn’t be no reason for us to do it. Too easy to get information from him.”
Vincent nodded glumly. “He talked of everything he knew. Try as I might, I could not shut him up.”
“Aye. It was his mouth what killed him, I’ll warrant. Might even have been the culls at the Foreign Office.”
Vincent considered the realities of the intelligence trade. “That’s possible. But the whole debacle is their doing. They should never have exiled Bonaparte to Elba in the first place. Much too close to France. Too easy for him to escape—and escape he will, soon or late.”
“He will if Lord Holland and his set have their way, such a fine fellow they think him to be.” Vincent’s companion rocked his chair to the floor with a snarl. “But there are those of us who remember what that bastard cost us, first and last.” He spit on the floor.
“We shall confound them. He must be contained.” Vincent stood. “I’ve several more people to talk to tonight. I’ll be around the hells. You can find me if you have more to report.”
His companion nodded and Vincent put on his hat and walked to the door. Standing in the portal, he let his gaze drift casually up the street and then down. He saw no one but the usual crowd that patronized the cheap taverns along the way, but still, he stepped out cautiously. He had not gone half a block when a hackney rumbled around the corner toward him.
Instinct took over and, without thinking, Vincent dropped to the dirty cobbles. The knife sailed over his head and buried itself in the wall of the building behind him. Chips of plaster rained down on him. The driver whipped up the horses and the conveyance disappeared down the street. Vincent rose, brushing dirt off his clothes.
Damn! That was close.
At last Wynmond Corby was in the ground and, Diana prayed, at peace. Vincent Ingleton had taken care of the obsequies and his stepmother had taken care of her. All of Wyn’s friends had paid their respects, to him and to her, and gone on their way. Now Diana could only wonder at the huge void within her, empty of any emotion at all with respect to Wyn.
Its very absence made her heart ache. When had she stopped loving him? When had she sustained that loss without even knowing it? She could only hope that in the few days’ respite while waiting to hear from her father’s cousin, a modicum of peace would also find her.
Bytham had been clamoring for a trip to the park since Vincent had promised it to him, but the funeral had intervened. Alice offered her services, but Diana had cared for the children herself for many years. She just could not put them in the hands of someone else.
They were all she had in the world.
Society decreed that she should remain in seclusion, mourning her loss, but that seemed redundant. She had long ago mourned the loss of the man she thought she had married—the laughing, golden-haired boy, the shining young man of promise. Now she just wished to learn what her life was to be. And to feel a few days of freedom lest she learn that it would be a new sort of prison.
Helen did not chide her when she donned a black pelisse and gloves. Suitable clothes for the children had also appeared as if by magic. Where Helen had found those, Diana had no idea, but she told herself that she did not have too much pride to accept used clothes.
She lied.
She did have too much pride. She just had little choice.
She was a Bytham of Bytham House, the daughter of an earl, and by God, she would hold her head up, come what may. She hated seeing her babies swathed in someone else’s black, their brightness dimmed, but she would not forget who they were. Who she was.
The three of them set out for the park afoot, enjoying the easy walk in the summer sunshine. As they strolled through the patterns of shade along the park walks, Selena picked dandelions out of the grass and Bytham tugged on Diana’s arm.
“Look, Mama, a butterfly. Look, Mama, a bee. Look, Mama…” Everything was wonderful to him. Before, they had lived too far away to come to the park often, the price of a hackney too dear. Diana found herself laughing with him. How long had it been since she’d laughed? Had taken time to feel the breeze on her face?
When they came to a bench beside a green lawn, Diana released her son’s hand and sat. “You may play here for a while, Bytham, but do not go far from Mama. Selena, stay close by.”
The automatic chorus of, “Yes, Mama,” greeted these instructions and the children raced off onto the lawn. Selena soon abandoned her flowers in favor of helping her little brother chase the fleet of butterflies. She was such a lively child. Someday she would have to learn the manners of a demure young miss, but Diana hoped to put that off as long as possible. Why trammel such a free spirit?
After several minutes she saw that the children had moved across the grass and were nearing one of the carriage roads. She stood and strolled after them. “Selena, come back now. Bring your brother with you.”
“Yes, Mama.” Selena caught Bytham’s hand, but he snatched it away from her. “Come, Bytham.”
“No! I want the yellow one. I can catch it!” He raced off after his latest quarry, Selena in hot pursuit.
“Bytham!” Diana looked at the road and saw a dark, closed carriage approaching. She started toward them, almost running. “Come back.”
The coach was getting nearer and Diana felt a strange sense of panic. That was not the kind of carriage that one used for the park. Perhaps it was just passing through, but… She lifted her skirts and ran in good earnest. “Bytham! Obey Mama at once!”
Hearing the urgency in her voice, Bytham stopped uncertainly and looked in her direction. The carriage pulled to a stop opposite them. The door opened and two rough-looking men got out. Bytham, who had been confronted with far too many strangers for his comfort of late, ran toward Diana. The men started toward the children.
“Selena, run!”
Selena ran, dragging Bytham along with her. Fear put wings to Diana’s feet, but she could see that the men would likely reach her children before she did. Oh, God. Help. She must have help. She began to scream.
At that moment she heard the hoofbeats of a horse in full career. Glancing up, she beheld Vincent Ingleton astride a sleek black horse, bearing down on them at a dead run.
“Vincent! Vincent!” Diana reached Selena and Bytham at the same time as the men from the coach. She tried to scoop both children into her arms, but one of the ruffians shoved her away. She tripped over the train of her skirt and sprawled backward on the ground.
“Vincent!”
Diana came to her hands and knees, struggling with the encumbering fabric. As one of the men grasped Selena, Diana abandoned the attempt to rise and flung herself at his ankle. He stumbled and, turning, kicked her grasping hands. She fell to the ground again, this time on her face. He picked up a shrieking Selena and ran for the coach. By now the other man had seized Bytham. Diana finally made it to her feet and ran after them. Dear heaven! She would never catch them.
And then Vincent came thundering down on them like a stooping hawk. The man holding Selena dropped her unceremoniously and sprinted for the coach. Bytham’s captor, better supplied with determination, tucked the kicking boy under one arm and followed. Vincent turned his mount to intercept him.
Diana heard the rattle of wheels and another set of hooves coming toward herself and Selena. She pushed the child behind her and turned defiantly, only to see Justinian Sudbury in a whiskey pulled by a sturdy chestnut, cutting across the lawn, also in pursuit of the kidnappers.
“Bytham, Bytham.” The whisper came out on a sob. They were taking him away! Diana knelt and locked her arms around Selena. They would have to kill her to get her daughter!
As she watched, the men angled away from Vincent and Sudbury, and the coach pulled forward to meet them. The man without a burden dived into the coach, the one carrying Bytham running not far behind.
For a heart-stopping second, Diana thought her son would be thrust into the coach, but as she watched, Sudbury pulled his tiny open vehicle into the road to block the way. The driver of the coach hauled on the reins and dragged his pair around in the other direction. Vincent swooped in and, leaning precariously from the saddle as he passed, plucked the boy out of his captor’s arms.
Vincent swung his riding crop with all his strength. The kidnapper howled and sprawled on the ground. Vincent turned his horse and started back. The man scrambled to his feet and made a desperate bid for the coach, but Vincent’s mount quickly closed the distance. Just as his fingers were reaching for the would-be abductor’s collar, an arm clothed in blue superfine emerged from the window of the coach with something in its hand.
A pistol!
Vincent jerked the reins sharply and his black reared in protest while Vincent leaned his body across Bytham’s. A shot rang out. The running kidnapper went down, rolling heels over head. The arm withdrew into the coach and the vehicle thundered off around a curve and out of sight.
For a moment Sudbury seemed about to give chase, but pulled in his horse as Vincent drew up beside him.
“Let them go.” Vincent settled the weeping child in front of him on the saddle and patted his shoulder awkwardly. “I need you to help me get Diana and the children home.”
“Bytham!” Diana’s all but hysterical voice sounded at his stirrup. Vincent looked down to see her clutching Selena with one hand and reaching for her son with the other. The boy leaned down and Vincent lowered him by one arm to his mother. She fell to her knees and clasped her children to her, all three of them sobbing.
Vincent drew the horse pistol from his saddle and dismounted. Standing over them, he called to Sudbury, “May I make use of the whiskey?”
“Certainly. May have to squeeze. Nice bit of riding, Lonsdale.” Sudbury moved his small carriage nearer. “What the devil was that all about?”
“I wish I knew.” Vincent scowled in the direction the escaping coach had taken. “Lady Diana, you and Selena need…” He paused when he realized she had not moved. “My lady?” When he still received no response, he went down on one knee beside her. “Diana?”
At last she lifted her head and looked in his direction, her eyes glazed with shock and a large area of skin scraped from her cheek. “My lord?”
Fury welled up in Vincent. They had hurt her. They had marred that perfect face. Let him but get his hands on them… But now he must get her safely away. Vincent clenched his teeth and forced his anger down. “Can you stand?”
She nodded, but did not get up. Placing an arm around her, he stood, bringing her with him. Selena and Bytham clung to her, their heads buried in her skirt. He took the boy into his own arms and nudged Diana toward the carriage. “Can you and Selena climb in?”
“I—I…” The vague expression in her eyes cleared. “Yes. Of course.” Never letting go of the girl, she managed with Sudbury’s help to get them both into the whiskey. Vincent mounted again before handing Bytham down to her.
It would not do to be on foot if his supposed ally proved false. He barely knew Justinian Sudbury. For all Vincent could say, the man might have been on the scene to supervise the abduction, never expecting help to appear. In fact, when Sudbury first came bowling across the lawn, Vincent had feared he intended to reinforce the kidnappers.
Damn! He did not want Diana and the children in the man’s carriage. But he could not carry all four of them on his horse.
He could ride behind with a pistol discreetly trained on the back of Sudbury’s head.
And he did.
Diana’s knees would scarcely hold her. Ever since she had disembarked from Justinian’s carriage at the Litton residence, she had been shaking. No matter how hard she tried to control it, she shook. And she would not let the children out of her sight. When Alice offered to take them upstairs, Diana’s heart lurched into her throat.
So they had all assembled in Helen’s elegant drawing room where she had ordered restorative viands to be served. The children had been indulged with hot chocolate and cakes, and Diana indulged herself with a large glass of sherry. Exhausted, Selena leaned against her where they sat on the sofa, but Bytham insisted on occupying Vincent’s lap.
His lordship appeared resigned to the destruction of yet another stylishly tied neckcloth and was keeping her son supplied with sandwiches from a plate on a table by their chair. Between the two of them, they had made impressive inroads on Helen’s supplies. Cream cheese and jelly smeared her son’s face, and a liberal amount of it had transferred itself to the starched cravat.
Diana looked at him appreciatively. “Thank God you happened to be in the park. I cannot imagine what I would have done had you not arrived so fortuitously. I am once again more indebted to you than I can ever repay.”
Diana caught a whiff of horseradish as Vincent shook his head and selected a sandwich of thinly sliced roast beef. “Not at all. I am happy that I was there, but that was not an accident. I had promised this ambitious gentleman here that he might have a ride on Blackhawk if he would be good and nap. I did not wish to fail in my word, so when I learned that you had gone to the park, I went in search of you.”
“Still, I am very grateful.” Diana accepted a second glassful of the sweet, amber wine from Lord Litton. What a luxury to have all she wished, even if her head did swim a bit.
Litton topped off Vincent’s glass and returned to his seat. He glanced speculatively at his stepson. “The question is, who were those people? Unlikely that it is a kidnapping for ransom. There must be some other motive.”
Diana emitted an unladylike snort. “I cannot imagine who would be so poorly informed as to believe I could pay ransom.”
Vincent’s dark gaze bored into her. “Then what?”
“I… I have no idea.” Oh, dear heaven! Could this be the work of her unidentified tormentor? But why would Deimos take the children? He already held the most terrifying threat against her. Still, she dared tell them nothing about him.
At that moment Feetham appeared at the drawing room door and addressed Helen. “Lord St. Edmunds, my lady.”
Vincent, narrowly preventing Bytham from wiping his hands on his stock again, set the boy down and came to his feet. Lord Litton followed suit. St. Edmunds hurried into the room on the heels of the butler. Vincent scowled. The lord wore a blue coat. But then, so did half the gentlemen of London.
St. Edmunds sketched a hasty bow in Helen’s direction and turned to Diana. “Lady Diana, are you well? Are the children unhurt? I just heard the most appalling tale.”
Diana could not like the man, no matter his show of concern. Still, she strove to speak politely. “Thank you, my lord. We had a very narrow escape. Had it not been for the intervention of Lord Lonsdale and Mr. Sudbury, my children would have been taken from me.”
“Terrible. Terrible.” St. Edmunds pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “I could not believe my ears.”
“And just where did you hear of the matter?” Vincent’s eyebrows lowered and his voice was cold.
“At White’s, just this quarter-hour ago. I came at once.” St. Edmunds stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “I’m sure the episode is all over London by now.”
“No doubt.” Lord Litton offered the newcomer a chair and provided him with a glass of sherry. “We were just discussing the matter. Clearly a case of ransom.”
At that, Vincent’s eyebrows rose as high as they had been low a moment before. He did not stop glaring at St. Edmunds, but he did resume his chair. When Bytham would have climbed back into his lap, Vincent stopped him with a look and a gesture that sent him back to Diana. He then glanced speculatively at Litton.
So did Diana.
At his comment, St. Edmunds’s brow puckered. “Ransom? Do you think so? I would have thought…” He glanced at Diana and apparently decided on diplomacy. “Well, I suppose there is no saying.”
How should she respond? Clearly, Vincent Ingleton harbored hostility toward St. Edmunds. And was that suspicion in his black eyes? Diana settled for shrugging. “I could not say, my lord. I am quite baffled.”
“You should never have been allowed to go abroad without a footman.” St. Edmunds returned Vincent’s glare pointedly. “I trust you will not do so again.”
“She will not.”
At the vehemence in his tone, Diana gave Vincent a startled glance. Bristling for a heartbeat, she was on the verge of telling both their lordships that she would make her own decisions just as she always had, thank you very much. But could she, in truth? She feared the forces gathering around her might be beyond her ability to withstand.
Vincent had thought the man would never leave. St. Edmunds had prated on about the terrors of the city, the insanity of the royalty and the incompetence of the Foreign Office. Not that Vincent didn’t agree with him on all counts. But he did not like the man, and he did not trust him any further than he could heave his very solid body.
In the end he had Litton’s smooth manner to thank for ridding them of the loquacious lord. Thank the gods. Vincent had found himself ready to end the interview with a sharp shove down the stairs. But then, social skill had never been one of his strong suits.
No doubt the reason he had just buried his last friend.
“Well, now.” Litton returned from seeing St. Edmunds to the door and resumed his seat. “Where were we?”
Vincent allowed himself a wry smile. “Contrary to more recent comments, I believe we were just saying that this attempt on the children was not done for ransom.” Bytham, evidently sensing the tension in the room lift, climbed down from the sofa and wriggled his way up onto Vincent’s knee again. Vincent let him come. He was growing to like the troublesome little sprat. But he had not wished to be encumbered by a child while St. Edmunds was in the room. The man made him wary.
Litton returned the grin, then sobered. “No, it cannot be that. But I think Lady Diana is safer if no one has reason to think otherwise. Clearly, this is the work of desperate men. Otherwise they would not have killed one of their own.”
A tense silence filled the room.
Vincent drew in a long breath and it out slowly. “True.” He turned his gaze to Diana. “Can you truly think of no reason for this?”
She hesitated a heartbeat too long. “I… No. It does not make sense.”
“Did Wyn ever talk to you of his doings at the Foreign Office?”
“Sometimes.” Her brow creased in thought. “Do you think this may have something to do with the business he did for them?”
“Do you?” Vincent waited.
She sat as if lost in thought for a minute, then raised her gaze to his. “I cannot think what.”
Litton cleared his throat. “Did your husband ever mention Bonaparte? Anything about his exile?”
“He may have. I…we…” Her cheeks turned pink. “He was very busy. I did not see much of him.”
Had she wished to? Vincent knew Wyn spent little time at home. Had Diana waited alone, longing for his company? Had she loved him that much? Or had his neglect taken its toll on her feelings? He hoped it had. It would make things easier for her.
That is, easier if he could protect her from her husband’s enemies. She must know something that threatened them—something that Wyn had told her. Could she truly not know what?
His stepfather gave him a penetrating look. “Well, someone clearly considers Lady Diana to be a danger to them. This must be an attempt to control her. They will not stop with one attempt. What will you do now?”
Vincent glanced across the room at Diana. “I will take her away.”
She sat up, suddenly straighter. “What? What do you mean?”
“You cannot stay in London. That should be evident. I will take you elsewhere.”
Alarm filled her face. “But where can I go?”
“Yorkshire, I think.”
“Good.” Litton nodded. “There you have a choice— You can go to Inglewood or you are welcome to go to Three Oaks.”
“Or to Wulfdale,” Helen spoke up. “Charles and Catherine would be willing to help.”
Diana looked from one to the other, puzzled and sounding on the verge of panic. “Where is Inglewood? Who are Charles and Catherine?”
“My brother and his wife. They live in the area of Inglewood, which is the Lonsdale estate,” Helen replied. “Charles and Adam are best of friends.”
But Vincent knew where he would go. He would go to his own place, his own stronghold. There he would keep her safe. He glanced down at the little boy dozing on his lap. “Diana, the children are exhausted and so are you. Come, I’ll carry Bytham up. We will discuss our plans on the way.”
“I’ll send Throckmorton to keep watch over them so that you will rest.” Litton stood as Diana rose reluctantly. “You will not worry with him on duty.”
“Thank you. You have been so kind.” Diana’s breath caught and she quickly covered her mouth with one hand, tears visible in her lashes.
Helen smiled. “Our pleasure, dear. Now do go up and rest.”
Vincent guided Diana out of the room and up the stairs to the nursery door. “We will leave late tonight, as secretly as possible. I have…business I must attend to first. You need to pack everything we can carry in one traveling coach. I don’t know how long we will be gone.”
She paused outside the nursery door. “I suppose we must go. I cannot risk the children again.”
“No. Whoever did this has shown that they do not scruple to take a life. Since they failed to take your children hostage, their next attempt may be to kill you.”
He watched the blood drain out of her face as she tried to answer. “If only I understood…”
He studied her expression. “Are you sure you do not?”
Her gaze fell to her hands and she shook her head. Vincent reached out and took her chin between his thumb and finger, lifting her face to study it for the truth. Instead the impulse to kiss her almost overpowered him. He hastily turned her face to the light. The scraped place on her cheek was beginning to bruise, as well.
Someone would die for that.
Chapter Four
As she stumbled along the narrow, odoriferous alley, a chilly breeze brushed against Diana’s cheek, eliciting a small shudder. She started as somewhere in one of the mews a dog barked, only to be silenced by a sharp command. The setting moon shed but faint light over the way, and Diana, encumbered by Bytham’s limp form in her arms, tripped over a loose cobble.
Lord Litton’s firm hand on her elbow steadied her and she glanced at Selena, half asleep in his arms. In spite of his burden, his lordship moved through the night with a watchful eye, followed closely by the exceedingly large footman called Throckmorton.
Diana viewed this addition to the party with mixed feelings. The presence of a veritable giant with the battered features of a former pugilist might prove comforting—if she could believe in his loyalty. Loyalty to her. But could she? At this point her enemies might be anyone. She had been forced to put her faith in Vincent Ingleton and Lord and Lady Litton, but were they truly her friends? They had been so kind, she could hardly think otherwise, but now… In the night, in the dark of the alley, she couldn’t be sure of anything.
Where were his lordship and his burly henchman taking her?
She had not seen Vincent since they had parted at the nursery door. Her baggage had been taken away hours earlier in Litton’s coach, and he assured her that they were going to meet Vincent.
But why were they proceeding in this clandestine fashion?
For that matter, was she wise to cast her whole dependence on Vincent as she had been doing? She had hardly proved herself a good judge of character in the past, she thought wryly. Diana had never quite understood Lonsdale’s motives in removing her from her home so precipitately. She began to wish herself back in the safety of the Litton town house—or even her own former quarters.
She wanted to seize her children and bolt.
But that represented no more safety than her present destination.
Whatever it might be.
No, for now she must trust, warily perhaps, but trust in someone. Not far ahead, tucked up against the mews, the outline of a dark coach loaded with trunks emerged from the gloom. The coachman in his powdered wig and top hat slumped on the box as if dozing. At the sound of their approach he sat up and peered down at them. Lord Litton opened the door and lifted Selena onto the seat. She murmured a drowsy protest before curling up and again sinking into slumber. He then took Bytham from Diana so that she could enter. For a moment she hesitated, afraid to let the children be separated, even for a moment.
Apparently sensing her uncertainty, he stepped in front of her and placed the boy on the other seat, then turned to help her, patting her gently on the shoulder. “Do not be afraid, my lady. All will be well.”
Diana nodded mutely and settled herself beside Selena. She felt the carriage rock as Throckmorton climbed onto the box and the lamps flickered into light. A moment later the coachman startled her by climbing inside. Before she could question this unorthodox procedure, he shrugged out of his greatcoat and tossed his wig aside.
“Vincent!”
He grinned his crooked grin. “Just so.”
“But why this masquerade?”
“For your safety. And mine. There are reasons you needn’t…” He glanced out the window as the coach lurched forward. “I don’t want us to be followed.”
The carriage rounded a corner and set off at a brisk trot. “Is Throckmorton driving? He is coming with us?”
“Aye.” A crease formed between his black brows. “It seems so. Litton insisted I bring him. Throckmorton has been in his employ for several years. Litton says he is reliable and very…useful.”
“But you do not sound as though you are pleased.”
“I don’t know him well enough.”
“Do you not trust him?”
He gave her an appraising look and replied gravely, “I don’t trust anyone.”
In fact, Vincent had no real reason not to trust the redoubtable Throckmorton. He just found it healthier to be wary of all comers. But he had to admit that the reinforcement represented by the footman might prove invaluable if it came to a fight.
He only wished he could completely trust Diana.
She was obviously holding something back whenever he asked about possible enemies. But what? He sat opposite her in the coach with the boy sleeping beside him on the seat. Diana leaned wearily in the corner with Selena’s head on her lap. Vincent hated the dark bruise on her cheek. In a few hours he would see that she had a chance to rest.
She sighed and looked at him. “Where are we going, my lord?”
“To Inglewood, eventually, but I do not want to go directly. I’m sure that whoever is harrying you will look for us there sooner or later, but I hope to delay their finding us until I am ready for them. It will be easier to protect you there than it is in London—and much easier than to do so on the road. When they find us, we will know who they are.”
Diana pressed a closed hand against her mouth. “Why, Vincent? Why are they doing this? Why would anyone take my children?”
“I am not perfectly sure, but, as Litton said, it must be that they desire a way of controlling you.” He studied her expression intently. “What do you know, Diana? And whom would it harm?”
“I don’t know!” Her voice rose on a hint of impending panic. “It must be something someone thinks Wyn told me, but we did not spend much time together. He was always very…busy.”
Vincent nodded. Certainly her husband had neglected her. But that did not mean the garrulous rascal never talked to her. “He is bound to have said something. Some reference to some group of people perhaps?”
She stared thoughtfully out the window for several heartbeats. “I cannot think… Well, yes. He once or twice said something about ‘St. Edmunds’s people,’ as though I would know who he meant, but I don’t. Except for his lordship, of course.”
“Did he ever mention Lord or Lady Holland?”
“Well, yes. We used to be invited to their home, and Wyn would go. I—I had stopped going into society. I could not afford…” He could not see the embarrassed flush in the dark, but he could hear it in her voice. “Why are you asking about them?”
“They are admirers of Bonaparte. There are some English folk who would like to see him replace the Bourbon king.”
Diana shook her head. “Who replaced him only months ago? Can no one ever be satisfied? How many English lives were lost fighting him?”
“Far too many, and if any attempt to restore him is made, there will be many, many more.”
Diana glanced down at her daughter and smoothed the pale hair spread across her lap. “I would that my children might grow up in a peaceful world. I cannot bear the thought that one day Bytham might have to go as a soldier.”
“If I have anything to say in the matter, at least he will not have to fight Bonaparte.” Vincent leaned forward and peered out the window into the dark. “I need to be able to see. Excuse me.”
Before she could ask him questions he wished to avoid, he pounded on the roof of the carriage. It came to a jolting halt and he donned his wig and coat and got out and climbed onto the box with Throckmorton. At least here he would not be so painfully aware of her presence as in the close confines of the carriage. Would not have to inhale her subtle fragrance. Not have to fight the impulse to touch her, to take her in his arms and devour her soft mouth.
They rumbled along at the best speed they could in the darkness for several hours. Vincent was obliged to look sharp to make out landmarks in the gloom. At last he signaled Throckmorton to pull up.
“How far are we from the Ashwell fork, do you think?” he asked of his new bodyguard.
“I dunno, me lord. It’s been dunnamany years since I come this way.” The big man shoved his white wig aside to scratch his brown-haired pate. “But we ain’t come to the Ivel bridge yet. We can turn just past that, but I’m thinking Ashwell’s out of our way if you purpose going to Yorkshire.”
“We’ll get to Yorkshire.” Vincent nodded. “Continue.”
Throckmorton gave the horses the office to start, and a mile or two later the wheels clattered across the bridge. Another quarter hour brought the fork into view.
“Pull up.” Vincent waited until the horses slowed and took the reins from Throckmorton. “Go take a look at that grove to our left. See if there is room to get the carriage out of sight.”
“Aye, sir.” The big man climbed down and ambled cautiously into the trees. After several minutes he returned. “It’ll be tight, me lord, but I think we can make her fit. Ain’t no one going to see us in this light.” They pulled the coach into the trees, turned it so that it could be driven straight out, and doused the lamps.
And then they sat.
And they waited.
The night wind murmured in the trees and somewhere an abbreviated screech and a triumphant “Who-hoo!” announced that a tiny life had ended as an owl’s dinner. Only the faintest starlight illuminated the road. Vincent sat patiently. They would come. He need only await them. And then, between one breath and the next, in the distance hoofbeats sounded. Quickly he went to the horses’ heads to keep them quiet.
Minutes later a coach and four barreled past them. It did not even slow at the fork, but continued up the main pike, away from Ashwell. When the sounds of its passage died, Vincent climbed back up and nodded at Throckmorton.
“There’s an inn at Ashwell. We’ll put up there.”
Throckmorton snapped his whip and they headed down the smaller lane.
They pulled into the inn yard shortly before dawn sent her delicate fingers of color across the sky. Stiff from inactivity and sore from yesterday’s tussle with the kidnappers, Diana all but fell out of the coach into Vincent’s arms. He caught her and righted her, still holding her close and gazing into her face with disconcerting intensity.
“Can you stand?” He kept a cautious hand on her elbow as she backed away from him, flustered by his scrutiny.
Diana took a brace of steps, first one way and then the other. “Yes, I believe so. I was just made a bit awkward by the inactivity.”
“And fatigue, I don’t doubt. But you can rest soon.”
From inside the coach, the children grumbled irritably at being disturbed. Diana smiled. “Alas, my lord, your inexperience with small children is evident. They tend to be early risers, and these two have been asleep all night.”
“That is why inns keep maids. We will make use of them.” Vincent lifted a groggy Selena out and set her on her feet, then reached back for Bytham.
“But—”
He cut off Diana’s protest at the outset. “Either Throckmorton or I will keep watch. We intend to take turns sleeping.” He gave her another appraising stare. “You cannot watch them day in, day out, Diana.”
“I know.” Suddenly the black well of exhaustion and fear threatened to swallow her. “I… I…” She gave it up. “Thank you, my lord.”
They entered the inn to find its inhabitants already astir. The short, portly landlord and his tall, sturdy wife came bustling to meet them, only to stop short when they saw Vincent. The wife turned in her tracks and, signaling to a wide-eyed maid who had emerged from the kitchen, disappeared with the girl into the rear of the inn. The landlord held his ground, but eyed Vincent and Throckmorton warily.
“Good morning, Biggleswade. I trust I find you well?” Vincent nodded politely.
“Ah…” The landlord made his bow, one eye on Vincent and one on Diana. “Yes, m’lord. I enjoy tolerable health. And your lordship?”
“Very well, thank you. I believe it has been several years since I stayed here.”
Biggleswade’s expression indicated that it might suit him better for it to be a bit longer yet, but he answered courteously enough. “How may I serve your lordship today?”
“As you can see, we have been traveling all night. We require a parlor and adjoining rooms for the lady and the children and another room for me close by. Can you oblige me?”
“I… Yes, m’lord. We have the rooms.” He cast a suspicious stare at Throckmorton’s battered face. “And your…uh…?”
“He and I will make use of the same room.” Vincent turned to Diana. “Would you like a tray brought to your room?” Without waiting for her nod he went on, “And we will need a maid to care for the children while the lady sleeps.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The landlord glanced around for his wife. Finding that she had decamped, he bowed and started to follow.
“And, Biggleswade…” Vincent spoke softly, but the man spun around with a start. “I would prefer that no questions be answered about our sojourn here, should anyone ask.”
“Oh! Oh…aye, sir. Of course.”
A few moments later Mrs. Biggleswade reappeared and, with a surly look at Vincent, invited Diana up the stairs. Now what was this all about? Diana glanced at Vincent but his somber countenance revealed nothing. She followed the woman up to an adequately furnished parlor and collapsed into a chintz-covered sofa.
By now the children were wide awake and wanting to explore their new surroundings. As she considered the futility of sending them back to bed, a light tap sounded at the door and a girl appeared bearing a tray with tea, hot bread and butter and milk. It smelled heavenly. Diana had not realized how hungry she had become. Anxiety had left her hardly able to eat a bite the evening before.
The children quickly converged on the table as the young woman set down the tray, and the maid and the innkeeper’s wife helped them into chairs. Diana took her own place gratefully and, in a very short time, served by the ladies of the inn, they emptied the plates.
As she finished her second cup of tea, another tap sounded on the door and Vincent strolled into the parlor. His rumpled black locks lacked their usual neatness and a dark shadow covered his cheeks and chin. He had discarded his neckcloth and coat, but in spite of his disheveled appearance, Diana’s breath caught in her throat.
Or perhaps because of it. The loosened collar showed the sculptured lines of his throat, and his rolled sleeves revealed his forearms lined with veins across the ridges of muscle. How had she never noticed in months past that he was an attractive man? Had she been that caught up in her own problems?
Apparently so.
The innkeeper’s wife scowled, folded her arms across her ample bosom and stepped in front of the young maid, who eyed Vincent warily. He ignored her and addressed Diana. “Are you ready to rest? If this young lady—” he nodded at the maid “—will take the children for a walk, I will accompany them.”
The landlady bristled. “Abby has plenty of work to do and don’t need to be traipsing off with you. If you need help, I’ll watch the little ones.”
Vincent bowed gravely. “Thank you, Mrs. Biggleswade. I would appreciate your time.”
Mrs. Biggleswade nodded, the suspicion in her eyes increasing as she glared at Diana’s injured cheek. Selena and Bytham jumped down from their chairs and—as soon as Diana had reminded them—expressed thanks for the breakfast. They followed Vincent and Mrs. Biggleswade out of the room, Diana’s anxious gaze trailing after them.
Surely they would be safe with Vincent. Hadn’t he, himself, stopped the kidnapping? Surely that meant… But Diana knew she didn’t entirely believe in his intentions. He had said that her enemies wished to take control of her—but was that not exactly what he had done? The way he looked at her at times made her wonder what he truly wanted of her. Still, as he had so accurately observed, she could not watch them day and night. Her eyes threatened to close even as she followed the maid into the adjoining room.
“The bed is freshly aired, m’lady. I saw to it myself.” The girl went to the window and drew the drapes. “Just let me help you with your gown.”
Diana turned and let the young woman unfasten her dress. She had no idea where her trunks had got to, so she climbed between the sheets in her shift, and the maid pulled the bed curtains to. Diana lay for a moment, listening as the girl closed the door and then listening harder for some sound from her children. She thought she heard Selena’s merry laugh just before she plunged into oblivion.
She had no idea how long she had slept. She waked to a sliver of light and the hiss of a whisper. Opening her eyes, she discovered the source of the whisper to be none other than Mrs. Biggleswade peeking between the bed curtains. “M’lady. M’lady! Wake up. Do you need help?”
“Wh-what?” Diana sat and rubbed at her eyes, trying to dispel the cobwebs fogging her brain.
“Are you needing help?” The woman cast a hasty glance over her shoulder. “It is all right. His lordship has gone in to sleep, and the other one went out to the privy. Abby has your little ones safe in the parlor.” She reached out and quickly touched Diana’s face. “Did he beat you?”
“What? Oh. Oh, no. It was not his lordship.”
“We’ll help you.” The older woman’s face wrinkled with concern. “We know that one from before. Cruel, he is, and wicked. Do you need help to get away from him?”
“I—I don’t know.”
And, to her horror, she didn’t. Here she was, racing away from everything she had known with a man of whom she had only casual acquaintance. Racing from what and to what? Suddenly a sound from the doorway to the parlor caught her attention. Mrs. Biggleswade whirled, scowling defiantly.
Vincent stood there, gazing at them soberly. He didn’t speak, and Diana, having no idea what to say, didn’t, either. The landlady folded her arms and stood, stalwart, between him and Diana.
Diana drew a deep breath. “Thank you, Mrs. Biggleswade. I appreciate your concern, but I require no further assistance.”
“Well, you just sing out if you do.” The tall woman brushed by Vincent and went into the parlor.
Vincent watched her retreat with something in his eyes that Diana could not quite identify. Sadness? Certainly something of the sort. Strange. He turned back to her. “I just came to tell you that I am going to sleep for a while. Throckmorton will keep watch. If you wish to go outside, he will accompany you. I do not believe anyone will expect to find me—and therefore you—at Ashwell.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Diana, suddenly bethinking herself of her state of undress, pulled the covers up to her chin. “I feel quite rested now. I may go for a stroll myself.”
He stood gazing at her for several moments. Then, in a perfectly even voice he said, “If you do not wish to continue, Lady Diana, we will, of course, turn back.”
Silence ensued for several more moments. And Diana made her decision. “Back to what?”
He nodded. “Just so.”
And with that, he turned and went back through the parlor to his room across the hall.
Vincent disciplined himself to fall asleep because he knew he must if he were to be as alert as the situation demanded. But it was not easy. Diana’s answer to the landlady echoed in his mind. Do you need help? I don’t know. She did not trust him. Which was hardly to be wondered at. He did not trust her, either. She knew something she would not tell.
But there was another pain in his heart. He knew all too well how he had earned Mrs. Biggleswade’s enmity. He had made his peace with her husband as best he could this morning, paying for certain damages to the inn and adding a large gratuity by way of apology for his behavior on his last visit. But it would be many a day before the landlord’s wife forgave his past treatment of her daughter.
Vincent wondered if he would ever forgive himself.
He had worked so hard in the last four years to overcome his richly deserved reputation—trying to correct every obligation, going into the service of his country, risking his life—but it never seemed enough. Time and time again a new set of circumstances forced him to confront it. He feared he would never live it down, never regain his self-respect. And now it had touched Diana.
And she didn’t know if she needed help against him.
The image of her in the bed, thick fair hair pouring over her soft bare shoulders grew behind his closed eyelids. He had not intended to intrude—until he’d heard the stealthy conversation. Then he had stood immobile, captured by her uncertainty and the curve, just visible above the shift, at the top of her breasts.
Vincent’s body began to grow hard. How could Wyn Corby have neglected such an enchanting woman? How had he missed the glowing spirit beneath the tranquil exterior? Had she been his, Vincent would have sheltered her from every hardship, protected himself and her from the forces that had left her a widow and threatened her still. If he made her his own…
But he could not do that now. He was in too deep.
He was as much threat to her as Wyn had been.
He woke as the fading light and the rattle of pots and pans from below stairs proclaimed the dinner hour. Vincent rang for hot water, and washed and shaved. Throckmorton had brought up his trunk. Vincent selected a fresh shirt, but decided against a cravat. It hardly seemed necessary on a secretive flight across the country in the dead of night. If they met someone, he could always put on his coachman’s garb.
He sauntered across the hall to Diana’s parlor, nodding to Throckmorton at his post by the door. In the parlor he found a freshly washed and brushed Selena, and sounds from the adjoining bedchamber indicated that Bytham would soon join them.
Or perhaps not.
He heard Diana’s calm voice firmly announce, “Bytham, if you do not allow me to finish washing you, you will have to eat your dinner alone in here.”
An unintelligible response from Bytham was lost in Selena’s giggle. “Bytham does not like to have his face washed.”
“I see.” Vincent did his best to remember what having his face washed as a small boy had been like. Probably he had not cared for it, either. He smiled at the girl. “Did you have a pleasant day, Miss Selena?”
“Oh, yes! We had two walks today—one with Mrs. Biggleswade and you this morning, and one with Mama and Throckmorton this afternoon. Throckmorton picked flowers for me, and Abby showed me how to make a wreath for my hair.” She darted across the room and retrieved a rather wilted offering. “See?”
Vincent turned the flowers over in his hands. So this is what little girls did on an afternoon walk.
“I like being in the country.” Selena took the wreath and plopped it over her fair curls. “Outdoors is much more fun than indoors.”
At that moment a small form came speeding across the room and launched itself at Vincent’s knees, grasping them with wiry, young arms. “Whoa!” Vincent staggered and reached down to dislodge his young admirer, lifting him into his arms. “Who is this very clean fellow? I haven’t seen him before.”
“It’s me! Bytham! Can we go outside again?”
“May we go outside.” Diana followed her son into the parlor. “And no, you may not. It is time for dinner. Good evening, Lord Lonsdale.” She held out a welcoming hand.
She had changed her black dress for one of lavender, and smoothed the wild mane of hair into a demure knot on the nape of her neck. The circles under her eyes had faded a bit, but the bruise on her cheek stood out clearly against her white skin. Vincent set Bytham on the floor and took the hand she extended. When his fingers closed over it, she winced.
Vincent quickly loosened his grip and examined the back of the hand. It was also bruised and the knuckles were scraped. He looked at her questioningly.
She withdrew the hand. “Yesterday. The man kicked me.”
Rage roared up in Vincent. He waited until he could master it before answering, “Forgive me, Lady Diana. Had I been but a little sooner…”
She looked at him in surprise. “It is not your fault. If you had not come—” She broke off and sighed. “Was it only yesterday? It seems like a lifetime.”
“A great deal has certainly happened in the last two days.” Vincent held a chair for her to be seated. “I would like for you to be able to rest tonight, but I dare not stay. It will be dark as soon as we have finished eating, and I want to be on the road again.”
“Whatever you think best. Oh, dear!” She made a futile grab for Bytham’s fork. “Oh, Bytham! You are dripping sauce on your shirt. Oh! No…don’t…wait…” Bytham looked down ruefully and smeared the drips around liberally with his napkin. His mother sighed and smiled at Vincent. “Too late.”
Vincent laughed out loud. “I never realized how hazardous parenthood can be.”
“Well, it is if one is obliged to provide all the care one’s self. Never mind, Bytham. We will change your shirt.” She turned a serious gaze on Vincent. “But never think that I begrudge it. These two are the joy of my life.”
“I can see that.” Vincent wondered for a second if she would ever have room in her heart for anyone else. Was it filled to capacity with love for her little ones and grief for Wyn? He had not seen her weep, except when Bytham and Selena had. But she was not a tearful sort of woman. Thank God.
He could not have borne watching her weep for another man.
So… They had joined forces. Excellent! He had begun to fear that his investment in her had been wasted. What need to extract confidences from the wife of a man who talked of everything he knew? A pity, in a way. It would have been so much more entertaining to extort them from her.
But Lonsdale was much more important to him than her fool of a husband had ever been. He needed all the information he could garner about that gentleman’s activities. And the woman would now provide it. He had watched her, had seen the terror he had so carefully cultivated in her grow. She dared not refuse.
No, having control of a beautiful woman was never a waste. He would have his opportunity to enjoy her yet.
Chapter Five
Alone in the dark again, Diana braced herself against the jolting of the carriage as they rattled through the night. Thank goodness the children had fallen asleep. They had been so excited by the prospect of running away in the night that she’d thought they never would. Dressed in their black clothes, she could not see them, but could perceive their presence only by their soft breaths, the dim lightness of their little faces and the warmth of Bytham’s head resting on her lap.
At Vincent’s request she had also donned a black pelisse. Clearly he hoped to make them invisible—but to whom? They had seen no sign of pursuit since they had hidden in the trees the night before. And who was to say the coach that had passed them had any interest in them?
But on the other hand, who could say it had not?
The problem that most occupied her thoughts, however, was the question of why Mrs. Biggleswade had thought she’d needed help to escape Vincent. And that he had beaten her. What experience had they of him that would cause them to suspect that? Perhaps the rumors she had heard of him were true. Had she simply traded one danger for a greater one?
That was difficult for her to believe in light of the courtesy he showed her—even with the perplexing gaze he occasionally bestowed on her. But that he had motives about which she knew nothing, she had no doubt. Dear God, what a tangle! How was she to ever get herself and her dear ones clear of it?
A sudden thump drew her attention to the window. She gasped as a pair of booted legs rested for a moment in the opening then slithered forward into the carriage. A moment later the rest of Vincent followed, whispering, “It is only I.”
Stilling her startled heart with a hand to her chest, she slid over to make room, and he sat beside her on the seat. “You frightened me.”
“Forgive me. I didn’t want to take time to stop. We are on the main pike. It would be better to stay to the back roads, but I fear we would still be on them this time next month if we did. We should be in Leicestershire by morning. Is all well with you?”
His angular profile, barely visible against the window, turned toward her. She could feel his breath against her cheek where they were crowded together on the seat, and suddenly Diana became aware of the warmth of his thigh pressed against hers. She drew in a sharp breath and his smoky, masculine scent welled up in her nostrils. Oh, my!
“I—I…” For a moment she could not remember what he had asked. “Oh. Yes, I’m fine. I only find it a little tiresome to be riding alone in the dark.”
She tried to move away from him a little, but a lurch of the coach rocked her back against him. He slipped a hand behind her, gripping her shoulder to steady her. “Damn these ruts!”
A deeper hole rolled them back the other way. Vincent grasped the handhold and pulled her against him to prevent her falling onto Bytham. In the next heartbeat it became very quiet in the carriage. Both of them had stopped breathing. The road leveled out and Diana found herself looking up into the shadows of his face. They sat thus for several heartbeats, his face coming nearer and nearer. At last she heard a strangled whisper.
“No.”
And he hastily left the coach by the same means he had used to enter it.
As they passed through the crossroads, the hair on the back of Vincent’s neck lifted. He signaled Throckmorton to pause and considered his choices. Which way would a pursuer expect him to go?
If the pursuer did not already know.
The certainty that he was being watched grew in Vincent. Had he been on the watch for someone, he would pay close attention to the crossroads. Very close attention.
“Which way, me lord?” Throckmorton peered into the darkness uneasily.
“I don’t think it matters. Don’t look about too hard. Just drive on for a bit.”
Throckmorton flicked the reins and headed down the westernmost lane. Vincent climbed onto the roof of the coach and stretched his long frame out between the trunks, watching their back road for several minutes. The moon having set, he saw nothing in the faint starlight. Nor did he hear anything.
But the prickles along the nape of his neck refused to abate.
He returned to the box. “Pull over to the edge of the road.”
Throckmorton complied and Vincent descended and opened the door. “Diana, I want you three to get out of the carriage for a little while. Can you manage?”
“I suppose so.” He could hear the puzzlement in her voice. “But what about the children? They are both asleep.”
“We will carry them.” He beckoned to Throckmorton. “Take Selena. I’ll carry Bytham.”
“But…why?” Diana clasped his shoulder to anchor herself as she climbed out. “Won’t it seem odd if someone sees the coach sitting here empty?”
“If their intentions are innocent, they will think no more of it than that the driver is answering a call of nature. If their intentions are otherwise, we will be ready for them.” Vincent ushered her away from the road, up the bank and through the smaller trees, gripping her arm to help her up the slope. Throckmorton scrambled after them easily, Selena’s weight appearing to bother him not at all.
When he found a huge oak tree, Vincent pulled Diana behind it. He kicked away what debris he could and looked about for unfriendly residents. A futile exercise. How would he see any small creature, friendly or otherwise, in the shadows of the woods? He had no choice but to lay Bytham on the ground and hope that nothing bit him. Throckmorton followed suit, propping Selena against the tree.
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