A Midsummer Night's Sin (26 page)

Before anything else could happen, Regina had to know her father’s fate; they all did.

If the gods were kind, the man was even now floating facedown inside one of the flooded caves.

Dickie Carstairs had been and gone, having succeeded in delivering the ladies of the evening to Mr. Porter, who would then
distribute
them to their employers. He’d blushed as he’d told Puck he’d been given carte blanche to the pick of Mr. Porter’s own clutch of soiled doves for the space of one year, an invitation he had declined with deepest regret. And then a strangely solemn Will Browning had arrived, said little, and the two had departed again almost immediately, presumably to their own domiciles, hot tubs and dry clothing but most probably heading back to the river. In any event, they hadn’t lingered, nor had they accepted Puck’s offer to join them.

A singular bunch, Jack and his friends. They’d accepted him on sufferance, had even complimented him on his
derring-do,
leaping into the Thames to rescue Miranda, but it was clear that he wasn’t one of them,
he wasn’t cut from their same strange cloth. And Puck couldn’t help but agree. He would fight when he had to, kill if if it came to that, but he wasn’t the sort of man who would ever actively seek out situations where he might be forced to do both. He’d even admit as much to Jack when he saw him.

But Jack had yet to show his face. He’d piled Puck and the two women into a hackney and then ridden off to find the baron and continue the search for Reginald Hackett.

Another hour passed before a slight noise at the door had Puck looking up from his contemplation of the swirling brandy in time to see Jack entering the room, once more looking his dark, handsome and totally inscrutable self.

“Anything?” he asked as Jack made straight for the drinks table and poured himself a glass of wine.

Jack didn’t sit down in the facing chair in front of the fireplace but only stood at the mantel, his scowl the sort that would scare small children, and most everybody else, for that matter. “Hackett’s alive. And nowhere to be found.”

“Damn. You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I found Henry’s body along the riverbank. But not his horse.”

Puck felt his body grow cold. “How?”

Jack downed the rest of his wine. “I asked myself the same question as I checked out the caves. One of them contains a clearly more recently dug passage that winds around and opens up at the other side of the cliff. Hack
ett’s bolt-hole. I can imagine how it happened. Henry… Henry was intent on searching the surface of the water, looking for you and the girl. He wasn’t watching his own back. There were signs of a struggle, but Hackett’s a big man. He managed to break Henry’s neck. It’s not your fault, Puck, remember that. You only get one mistake, doing what we do, and Henry made his today. Two years fighting Bonaparte and never a scratch. Just to end like this. Will and Dickie took him home, tucked him up in bed. He’ll have died somehow in his sleep. No one will ever know the truth.”

The wineglass shattered in the fireplace.

Puck’s mind seemed to be moving in six directions at once. Hackett’s hands, large, strong. Deadly. Hackett’s face, probably the last thing the baron had seen before he died. Hackett. Alive. The only men who could expose him for who and what he was, send him to the gallows, here, in Grosvenor Square. His wife and daughter, Lady Miranda and Lady Claire, also once again here, in Grosvenor Square. Not that the man knew that.
Yet.

“You think he’ll cut his losses and run?” Puck asked his brother, hoping Jack would agree with that possibility. “See what’s happened as the end of him here in England? He’s got an easy escape route. All those ships. The
Pride and the Prize
at London Docks, for one, and nearly ready to sail. He had to know a day like this might come. He’d have placed funds in foreign banks, have a bolt-hole. The man’s always had a bolt-hole.”

Jack seemed distracted. “I don’t know. A man like
Hackett plots to survive. That’s not the same as planning for defeat. Right now he’s probably kicking himself for allowing two raw amateurs like the pair of us to best him, rob him of his cargo. That’s how he’d see it, Puck. That we’ve robbed him of valuable goods. Not that we’ve rescued the women, that we had any higher purpose, as it were. He thinks we’re as bad as he is, only not quite as intelligent.”

Puck nodded his agreement. “All right, that makes sense. We’d decided to take his
cargo
and sell it ourselves. He’s probably smart enough to know we’re aware he never planned to take us on as his partners.”

Jack actually managed a smile. “I don’t think I’d like to be Mr. Benjamin Harley right now. Would you?”

“God, I hadn’t thought of that. I set the man up for destruction with my attempt at playacting, didn’t I? We’ve got the cargo now, but we don’t know the ports of call. Only Hackett and Harley know that. Plus, we’d need the ship. Hackett has to think his partner betrayed him. Benjamin Harley might even be the one who tipped us to the location of the caves.” Puck shook his head in some amazement at how all the wrongly assumed puzzle pieces Regina’s father may have assembled still managed to very neatly fall into place. “Damn. Should we be dashing off to save the fellow from Hackett’s wrath or something?”

“Are you feeling heroic again, brother mine?”

Puck considered this for a moment. “Not particularly. A good man is dead. I care about that, very much.
I don’t think I can bring myself to care about Benjamin Harley, no.”

“Be careful, brother. You’re beginning to think like me. So we’re agreed. We leave Mr. Harley to live out the remainder of his life, which can probably now be counted in hours. As to the rest of us? You’re the poet, Puck, the storyteller. What would you do now, were you Reginald Hackett, believing what you believe? Play his role for me for a moment.”

Puck looked at the snifter in his hand and carefully set it down on the table beside his chair. He closed his eyes, attempted to put himself inside the head of a cold-blooded monster, knowing only what that man knew. “If he means to salvage what he can, remain in England? He’d want the two of us dead, obviously, just as dead as his traitorous partner. If I were Reginald Hackett, Harley would be my first order of business, just out of pure hate and because he’d be easier to dispatch. You and I would be second on that list.”

He opened his eyes and looked at his brother. “We have to get the women out of here, Jack. Now.”

“Ah, then the brains and the brawn are in agreement. The hunters have just been made the hunted. But what to do with the women? Are we back to Half Moon Street? Every time we move them, there’s more chance that someone will see them.”

“I know,” Puck said, getting to his feet, his mind whirling with possibilities. “They can’t stay here any longer, that’s clear enough. But no more hiding. I think it’s time Regina and her cousin returned to town. I don’t
know about you, Jack, but I much prefer the role of hunter, and I can’t think of a better way to flush out our quarry. Besides, I’ve yet to formally apply for his daughter’s hand in marriage. I don’t expect his blessing, but I would want him to know about the betrothal before you take him away, to do whatever it is the Crown thinks best to do with him.”

For the first time since entering the study with news of Hackett’s escape and the baron’s death, Jack smiled. “You know what the Crown thinks best.”

Puck walked over to the drinks table and poured out two measures of wine, handing one glass to his brother while lifting his own. “To a true and brave friend. To Baron Henry Sutton, and may the blackguard who took him from us be in Hell before the sun rises tomorrow.
Henri, soldat courageux, nous vous saluons!
”

“P
APA
!”

Regina watched as Miranda raced into the drawing room in Cavendish Square to throw herself into her father’s arms.

The viscount looked startled, as well he should, but then slowly wrapped his arms around his daughter as she sobbed against his shoulder.

“Look at him,” Regina whispered to Puck as they remained in the black-and-white-tiled hallway and watched the awkward reunion. “He doesn’t know if he should be happy or horrified. This may have been a mistake.”

“One I believe her ladyship will rectify in short order. She’s made of fairly stern stuff, I’ve discovered,” he answered, and Regina watched as her aunt, spine stiff and shoulders straight, marched into the room to join husband and daughter. “Kettering, my good man?” he then said, without turning around.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Blackthorn. I am, of course, at your service.” The Mentmore butler spoke from mere inches behind Regina, or so it seemed, startling her.

Puck squeezed Regina’s hand and whispered in her ear. “Hear that? He’s at my service.” He turned, still
holding her hand, and motioned for Kettering to head for the relative privacy of the hallway. “Yes, Kettering, my very good man. You’ve sent away the other servants?”

“I did, sir, the moment I received your note. I informed them, as requested, that the viscount had declared a day of prayer for his sick father, the earl, and they were all to take themselves off to church.” The butler leaned forward confidingly. “Most are headed for Bartholomew Fair, I believe, thanks to the purse you sent round with the note. They won’t none of them be back too quickly. And my congratulations, sir, for having found Lady Miranda.”

“Found her?” Puck put a hand to his chest as if astonished at the man’s words. “Why, was she misplaced? The ladies have been at Mentmore, remember? Visiting the earl, painting watercolors of some local ruins and whatever else it is that ladies do to amuse themselves in the country.”

Kettering flushed to the roots of his hair. “Yes, sir. I forgot…that is, I remember now. But why, sir, may I ask, would the ladies have come back from the country, what with the earl about ready to cock up his toes?”

“Can you even ask, Kettering?” Puck said in further astonishment. “Lady Sefton’s ball is this evening, man. If the young ladies are perhaps soon to be forced into mourning and miss the remainder of the Season, well, then they’d best get their husband hunting in while they can. Now, dinner for—let me think—ah, yes, is Lady Miranda’s dear brother yet back from his journey? No?
In that case, nothing too elaborate for dinner. I would suggest you have trays sent to the ladies’ chambers. And they’ll need the coach brought round at nine and not a moment later. Until then, the family is not receiving. Is that all clear to you now?”

Kettering bowed to Puck, even as he pocketed the gold coin he’d just been handed. “I won’t forget again, sir. My deepest apologies.”

“Of course you won’t. You’re a good man, Kettering. I knew where your loyalties lay the first moment I clapped eyes on you. Wadsworth?”

The Blackthorn butler stepped forward. “Sir!”

“Mr. Kettering, you may now say hello to Mr. Wadsworth, a man above price and whose loyalties lie with me, in case you may be wondering. And cooling their heels in your kitchens at the moment is the remainder of my equally loyal staff. You will put yourself in Mr. Wadsworth’s capable hands, Mr. Kettering. Agreed?”

Regina thought Kettering looked mulish for a moment, but then he nodded his agreement. “As you say, sir.”

“Splendid! Wadsworth? I would imagine you’d like some tea now, yes?”

“And a little something to go in it, yes, sir,” Wadsworth said, winking at Kettering. “Come along, my new friend,” he went on, clapping one muscular arm around Kettering’s shoulders in a way that warned he’d be friendly if the butler agreed but was prepared to be less than that if necessary. “We’ve lots to talk about, we do, the pair of us.”

Regina watched in amazement as the high-nosed Mentmore butler went off, meek as a lamb, and then turned on Puck. “Are you mad? Miranda’s in no fit state to go to a
ball.
I know I promised not to ask any questions when you were loading us all into the coach and sending us all here, but can you seriously believe you can hold me to that now?”

He grinned at her, but she refused to be mollified, especially when he answered, “I admit to some hope, dazzled by your love for me that you are. But, in truth, I seriously doubted I could hold you to it once you realized you and the other ladies were driving through the heart of Mayfair in the Mentmore coach with the shades down, for all to see you as you return from your recent sojourn in the country.”

“Yes.
All.
Including my father. You may have sent the servants away, but word will get to him soon enough, you know it will. And he knows Miranda will tell everyone what happened.”

“No, actually, she won’t. She can’t. We know, her family will know. But the rest of the world will remain in ignorance.” Puck squeezed her hands in his. “Think on it a moment, sweetings, for I have. I worried for her at first but not now. You see, and as I’m sure your father has already figured out for himself, she can’t tell anyone, not without damning herself. Lady Claire agrees.”

“You spoke to my aunt about this? But what if you’re wrong? What if my father comes here today? I can’t face him, Puck. I can’t.”

“And you won’t. You’ll be at Lady Sefton’s ball, remember?”

Regina thought her head might explode. “
What?
You expect me to go with her?”

“You and your mother both, yes.” Puck looked into the drawing room, where the reunited family was now seated close together on one of the couches. “Come with me. I’d rather say this only once, and then you and I can find some secluded room somewhere in this shabby pile, and I can make untoward advances on your virtue.”

“I’d have an answer for that, Robin Goodfellow,” she whispered furiously as he all but dragged her back into the drawing room, “but even Grandmother Hackett wouldn’t dare be so frank.”

“Mad about you,” he whispered back. “I’m simply mad about you. When this is over, I doubt I’ll allow you out of my bed for a week. We’ll have the luxury to go slow, to take our time. An entire afternoon, just to kiss you. From your head to your toes.
J’apprendrai tous vos secrets, mon amour, et vous saurez le mien.
”

She felt her face grow hot. “Puck! You won’t distract me. And I’m not going anywhere, no matter how you convinced my aunt or may convince my uncle.”

But then Puck laid out his plan for the remainder of the day and evening, and she was proved wrong…and an hour later, behind a locked door in the small conservatory that had fallen into disuse years ago, Puck was proved right.

He began kissing her the moment the key was safely in his pocket.

They hadn’t had a moment alone together since that morning. There had been Miranda and her understandable hysteria once she’d roused from her faint, clinging to Regina, sobbing and laughing and then suddenly still, until a shudder overtook her, and she cried again.

The reunion had followed, once Lady Claire and Regina’s mother had been brought from Half Moon Street. It had been heart wrenching to witness, glorious, a mad mix of emotions, which had left them all spent, exhausted.

Reginald Hackett’s name had been raised and roundly cursed. Regina and her mother had retired from the room then, her mother to seek out a bottle, Regina felt sure, and herself to sit alone, wondering when it might occur to Miranda to hate her because of who her father was.

And then, just when Regina, having dressed hurriedly after her bath, had hoped to slip downstairs and find Puck, they’d all suddenly been hustled into the Mentmore coach and driven here, to Cavendish Square, only to be greeted by Puck, who had arrived before them via the servant’s entrance, all smiles and plans and teases, just as if he hadn’t very nearly died.

So now, when they were finally alone, she held on tightly, never wanting to let him go. She could have lost him to the river this morning. She’d thought she had. If she’d lost him, she would have lost herself, because she
was a part of him now, as he was a part of her, always and forever.

Five days ago, she hadn’t known him. Now there was no life without him.

It wasn’t passion she needed from him right now, nor he from her, she felt sure. It was the closeness, the touching, the holding on to what they’d found, the promise of a future, the reminder that they were alive, and life was to be lived.

He kissed her hair, her eyelids. “When I thought I’d never see you again…that’s what kept me going, Regina. Life is never fair and often even cruel, but sometimes it can be kind. Because here we are. And we’ll never be separated again, I promise.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest, glorying in the steady beating of his heart. “You were so very brave. Not just any man would have dared that water to save a woman he didn’t even know.”

“I agree. It was very cold water, and filthy into the bargain. And then there was the matter of my boots. I’d hoped to perhaps find a fish in one of them when Gaston finally was able to wrench them off me, but no such luck. And the boots, of course, are ruined. As a consequence, if it eases your mind, I’ve decided to never do anything quite so foolhardy again.”

She raised her head to look up into his smiling face. He wanted her to smile, as well, so she did. For a moment, they would pretend to be lighthearted. “You think a similar occasion could occur? Or are you speaking of heroics in general?”

He pushed an errant curl away from her forehead. “Devout cowardice does have its merits, you know. Or would you rather I was more like Jack?”

Her arms tightened around him. “I think your brother is very brave and extremely dedicated to whatever it is he and his friends do…and if you ever dared to join him in any of his exploits I would probably have to lock you in the cellars until you came to your senses. Will we have cellars?”

“I don’t know,” he said, looking at her with the smile still in his eyes, looking so young and handsome her heart nearly broke. “I do have an estate, by the way. There are sheep on it, I believe, and some cows and a multitude of fields and trees. Oh, and a house. Perhaps with cellars. You may be marrying a bastard, Miss Hackett, but he’s a rather well-heeled bastard.”

“Married,” she said on a sigh. “Is it wrong to think about a future, when everything is still so uncertain? I suppose I know your plan for Miranda is necessary. But my father isn’t a stupid man, and quite desperate, no thanks to you. What if he doesn’t do what you expect him to do?”

Puck put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Not now. If we only have these few moments, let’s not waste them talking about your father. Not when I’d much rather be kissing you.”

“Yes, but how do you know he won’t follow us to the ball and try to hurt Miranda? I know you said he won’t, and your reasoning seems sensible. But how do you
know?
”

He took her hand and led her over to a dusty stone bench, spreading his handkerchief for her before she sat down. “You heard my reasons as I laid them out to the viscount and Lady Claire.”

“Yes,” Regina said slowly. “And to me. You laid them out to me, as well. We’ve returned from the country, we may have been seen alighting from the coach earlier. We’re attending Lady Sefton’s ball this evening, safely out of the way and at the same time very visible to those who need to see us out and about and…happy, as if without a care in the world. Oh, Lord, how will Miranda manage that? How will any of us manage that?”

He squeezed her hand. “You will because you have no other choice. Miranda’s future depends on it. I’d go with you, you know that, but it would seem Lady Sefton forgot to send along an invitation to the marquess’s bastard son. At any rate, your father will know by now where you are, as I’m certain he’s had someone watching the mansion in Grosvenor Square day and night. Until an hour ago, there was someone watching this house, along with Dickie Carstairs, who was making himself quite obvious out there while someone better hidden watched the watcher. But even the watcher is gone now.”

“I’d ask you to explain all of that, but as the thought seems to make you happy, I’ll let it go. Go on.”

“Thank you. Your father will by now have assumed, correctly, that Miranda is no longer a threat to him, as it would be a disaster if it were ever learned what hap
pened to her these last days. Your father will also know that you and your mother were with Miranda. And Lady Claire. He’ll have realized by now that he’d been tricked, that you’d never left London, that his daughter and his wife have betrayed him, that you know him for what he really is…and that his new worst enemy has been protecting you.”

“More than protecting us. He’ll think the worst, and he’ll be right. All his plans to marry me to a title are gone now. His entire world, the one he built so carefully, it’s all gone now. All because Miranda and I attended that masquerade a lifetime ago.” She put her hand to Puck’s cheek. “He has so many reasons to want you dead.”

“Yes, but I’m also the least of his worries. At first, yes, Jack and I both thought he’d come hunting us and possibly even Miranda. But then we realized Miranda’s greater danger—the other captives. No secret is ever a secret for long, Regina. There were too many women, and at least one of them will know your cousin’s name, at least one of them will tell someone about Reginald Hackett. Your father’s crimes surely will come out, which is the reason Miranda has to be seen tonight—happy, laughing, putting the lie to any rumor that she’d been one of the captives.”

“And all with half the rice powder in London on her bruised cheek. I don’t know how she’ll manage, but if Aunt Claire thinks this is necessary, Miranda will listen to her. But my father…”

“Gone, sweetings. I meant what I told the viscount.
He’s gone. He may have thought at first that he could eliminate his partner, eliminate Jack and me and go back to being Reginald Hackett, wealthy shipowner and father to the daughter who would marry a title. But now he’s got no other choice but to do the unthinkable. He has to cut his losses and escape England before he’s caught and hanged. He’s already gone for one last bolt-hole, Regina. There will be a scandal eventually, I won’t deny that, but with your father already gone, it will be short-lived, and you and your mother won’t be here to listen to it. He’s out of your life.”