Debra Mullins (5 page)

She had let him touch her, take liberties no man had ever taken. And she’d reveled in the desire he ignited. Much to her chagrin, she wanted more.

Wanton girl! She was spoken for, all but betrothed, and this man could well have had a part in her brother’s death. Yet still her flesh sang when she remembered their encounter. Still she wanted to move closer to him, to revel in the deep
rumble of his voice as he whispered passionate endearments. She wanted his hands and mouth on her again, longed to feel that devastating pleasure that had left her innocence shattered forever.

Even if he was the enemy.

“Well,” her mother said in icy tones as the carriage lurched into motion, “I am
most
displeased with you, Anna.”

She jerked her gaze to her mother’s face. “Mama?”

“You are not doing your part to secure your betrothal,” Henrietta said. Her mouth a grim line, she shook her head in disappointment. “You had all the charm of a potted plant this evening. Why, if Mrs. Emberly were not already wed, I’d swear you would have lost Lord Haverford to her.”

“Oh, let the girl alone,” her father said. “The thing’s all but done. Just need to sign some papers.”

“And I won’t be satisfied until those settlements
are
signed,” Henrietta snapped. “In the meantime, Lord Haverford might well come across a young lady who might possess enough charm and beauty to lure him away from our Anna. She must secure his affections, agreement or not.”

“Haverford’s an honorable man,” the admiral said. “He won’t be dismissing a promise made by his father.”

“I refuse to depend on that. Anna is nearly twenty-one, and Haverford has yet to make an of
fer. If he is so keen to keep his father’s promise, what’s keeping the man?”

“He’ll come up to scratch and do what’s right. Invited the Devereaux bunch, didn’t he? And he had no reason to, none at all.”

Henrietta made a sound of exasperation. “They’re his family.”

“Lady Florington didn’t say a word to them, did you notice? Not a single word. They’re her family, too, but she doesn’t even acknowledge their presence.” The admiral shifted his position on the narrow seat.

“What do you mean, Papa?” Anna asked.

“’Tis not a tale for a young girl’s ears,” Henrietta declared with a disapproving sniff.

“Then why are you talking about it in front of me?” Anna asked. “Really, if you want to keep such things secret, you shouldn’t discuss them openly.”

“What cheek!” Henrietta gasped.

The admiral laughed. “Shorten sail, Henrietta. The girl’s got a point.”

“Disrespectful,” her mother mumbled, but she turned her gaze to the scenery outside the window.

“She’s marrying into this family. She’s got a right to know.” He turned to his daughter. “Roman Devereaux’s father caused a scandal a while back, so his wife, son, and daughter are now no longer received in many circles.”

“What happened?” Anna asked, fascinated.

“Really, Quentin,” Henrietta interjected. “The details are not in any way a proper subject for a girl of Anna’s age to hear.”

“She needs to know,” her father insisted.

“Not all of it.” Her very posture declaring her displeasure, Henrietta returned her attention to the scenery outside.

“Fine then.” The admiral gave a sigh, and said, “About ten-odd years ago, Oliver Devereaux ran off with Alicia Sefton, who was to marry the old earl. It was quite the scandal.”

Anna’s mouth dropped open. “I should say so!”

“Deplorable conduct,” her mother asserted.

“Quite so,” her father agreed. “Suffice it to say that young Haverford holds no ill will toward the family of the man who humiliated his father. Honorable man, Haverford. He’ll make you a fine husband.”

“If the betrothal ever comes to pass,” her mother grumbled. “Anna, the next time we are in Lord Haverford’s company, you really must be more amusing to keep his attention focused on you.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“I believe we are to accompany Lord Haverford to the theater on Thursday,” Henrietta said. “You should perhaps wear blue to remind Lord Haverford of the Devereaux sapphire…”

Anna tuned out her mother’s strategies. She would wear what her mother wanted her to; she always did. Honestly, Mama seemed to enjoy
Anna’s London activities more than Anna herself did. Henrietta plotted and planned each stage of the pursuit of Lord Haverford with the ruthlessness of a general.

No wonder she and Papa got along so well.

While she knew she should be trying to placate Mama by thinking of ways to attract Lord Haverford, another gentleman preoccupied her thoughts. Roman Devereaux just would not be dismissed.

She would have to learn more about him, about his friends and the places he frequented. Perhaps she could learn the identity of the young man who’d accompanied him to the dinner at Vauxhall. One of them
must
know something about the society and maybe even about Anthony’s death.

She would obtain the information she needed, even if it meant she had to spend time alone with a man who preoccupied her thoughts far more than he should.

A
t precisely half past nine the next morning, Rome strode up to the door of the rooms frequented by Peter Brantley, curled his hand into a fist, and pounded. Then he paused to listen. A moan came from within the domicile, followed by a soft thud and the sound of something being dragged.

A small smile curved his lips. Good. The lad was at home.

He raised his fist and rapped again—solid thumps, designed to vibrate through the skull of a young man still in his cups—little caring that the racket would rouse not only Peter, but his neighbors as well.

There was a crash, a groan. The slow shuffling
of reluctant feet. And, finally, the click of the door latch.

Peter peered through the crack in the door, squinting against the morning sunlight. “Who the devil—”

“Good morning, Peter.” Shoving the portal wide, Rome strode inside.

Peter clung to the latch as if to remain upright, staring at him with bleary eyes reddened by a night’s worth of drinking. “Devereaux,” he said. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“Waking the dead, it seems.” Casting a disparaging look over the lad, Rome shook his head. He easily wrested the door from Peter’s tenuous grip and slammed it closed.

Peter winced and pressed his palms to either side of his head. “Have a bit of compassion, won’t you?”

“Where have you been? Don’t answer. I can tell by the look of you—and by the stench—what you have been doing.”

Peter glared at him. “Shove off, Devereaux. You’re not my father.”

“No, I’m not.” Rome grabbed the younger man by the front of his wrinkled shirt—slept in, from the look of it—and dragged him up on tiptoe. “But I promised your brother that I would look after you, and by God, I will do just that, with or without your cooperation.” He released his grip so suddenly that Peter staggered. “Now, we’re go
ing to have a talk, beginning with where you disappeared to that night at Vauxhall.”

Peter sent him a baleful look as he smoothed the front of his shirt. “I went out with friends is all.”

“And would those ‘friends’ include the swordsman who disrupted the party?”

Peter paled. “No.”

“Let’s talk about the swordsman.” Rome shoved a crumpled coat off a chair and sat down. “Do you know who he was?”

“It’s none of your affair.” The bravado faded from his voice with the last word.

“On the contrary, Peter. Your brother made it my affair.”

“When will you stop hanging that over my head?” Peter swiped a hand over his face. “I’m a grown man. My life is my own.”

“Is it?” Rome rose and gripped Peter’s hand, the hand that wore a ring with a black rose crossed with a sword. “Or does it belong to them?”

“You don’t know anything!” Peter wrenched his hand away. “And I don’t want you to know. This is my business. Mine.”

The boy turned away, practically sobbing.

“Peter,” Rome said quietly, “have they threatened you?”

Peter froze for an instant, then nodded. He sank down on a chair, shoulders hunched, head bent, shuddering. “I want to get out,” he whispered.

“Get out?” Rome came over, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Get out of what?”

“The Black Rose Society.” The words erupted, strangled, from Peter’s throat. “I thought it would be fun, an adventure. And I would end up rich.”

“Tell me.”

Peter looked up at him, misery in his eyes. “I’m afraid, Rome.”

Rome squeezed his shoulder. “I’m watching your back. Now tell me what’s going on.”

Peter sighed, as if all the strength had left his body. “Very well. I was approached by a friend who had joined the society. He encouraged me to become a member. It sounded exciting.”

“I imagine he made it appear so.”

Peter shrugged. “All the members are matched in secret duels. The person who wins the duel moves to the next level, and the one who loses must start all over again from the beginning level.”

“I see. Do you pay some sort of fee to join?”

Peter nodded. “And if you start all over, you have to pay again.”

Rome’s jaw clenched. “Greedy bastards, aren’t they? How did they threaten you?”

“The society is supposed to be completely secret.” Peter held up his hand. “We all wear these rings to identify us as members.”

Rome took the lad’s hand and studied the symbol with close interest. “Everyone wears these?”

“Yes. Though the members of the Triad have rubies in theirs where the rosebud should be.”

“What’s the Triad?” He released the boy’s hand.

“The top three duelists in the society. If you win against all your other matches, you have the chance to battle the members of the Triad. If you beat even one of them, you assume his position.”

“And these three men—they are the members in charge of the whole society?”

“Yes, and they are the judges at the matches.”

“I believe I am forming an accurate picture. Go on.”

“That night at Vauxhall, it was a member of the Triad who disrupted the party.” Peter dropped his gaze to the floor. “He was angry because we were all socializing together. We had betrayed the secrecy of the society.”

“And that is why they threatened you?”

Peter nodded. “The swordsman found me at Vauxhall after he had appeared at the dinner party and told me that if I ever betrayed the secrecy of the society again, it might mean my life.” He cast Rome a look of shame. “When you first asked where I went after Vauxhall, I lied about being with my friends. I hid alone at a tavern that night, like a scared child.”

“It seems to me like you exercised good sense.” Rome sat down in a comfortable chair. “And now that you’ve told me about it, you have no more reason to fear. I won’t let anything happen to you, Peter. Now tell me what else you know about this Black Rose Society.”

Peter sat back in his chair with a sigh of relief and told him.

Anna knocked on the door of the modest but attractive town house, accompanied by her maid, Lizzie. An elderly butler opened the door, studying them with somber eyes.

“I am paying a call on Mrs. Emberly,” Anna said, producing her calling card. “Is she at home?”

“Madame is indeed receiving this morning,” he said, accepting the card. “Do come in, and I will announce you.”

Anna stepped into the house and handed her bonnet and wrap to the butler. He stowed both hers and Lizzie’s belongings, then led them down the hall to a sunny parlor.

“Miss Rosewood,” he intoned, then stepped back and led her maid away to the servants’ kitchen.

As she entered the room, Anna took a moment to study the décor. Tidy, she decided. Nothing terribly expensive or ostentatious, but good solid furnishings that gleamed from meticulous care. Her hostess sat alone on the sofa, a teacup and some plain biscuits on the table beside her.

Mrs. Emberly stood. “Miss Rosewood, what a delightful surprise!”

“Good morning, Mrs. Emberly.” Anna blinked in astonishment as the vivacious lady clasped both her hands in greeting.

“Please, do call me Lavinia. Or Vin. Why, we are all but family, aren’t we?” Lavinia led her to the sofa. “Would you care for some tea? I keep the stuff nearby at all times since I discovered that I am increasing.”

“Ah…congratulations.” Uncertain how to react to such a candid statement—her mother would have been horrified that such a topic had been mentioned even in passing in the unwed Anna’s presence—she sat down on the sofa. “Yes, tea would be lovely.”

Lavinia rang for a servant. The same elderly man responded and was told to bring a tea tray. “And lots of biscuits,” Lavinia added as the butler turned away. She gave Anna a mischievous smile. “I do love biscuits.”

Anna smiled. “So do I.”

“Something in common!” Lavinia giggled and reached for her tea. “I’m sorry, Miss Rosewood. I must appear appallingly familiar with you, but I feel as if I have known you my entire life, what with your arrangement with Haverford and all.”

“If I am to call you Lavinia, then you must call me Anna. And the arrangement is yet informal.”

Lavinia waved a dismissive hand. “Never fear, dear Anna. Haverford is nothing if not honorable. He will fulfill his father’s promise.”

“I’m certain he will.”

“And then we will be cousins.”

“So we will.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the tea tray. The few minutes necessary to pour and fix her tea allowed Anna a chance to think about how she should best broach the subject that had brought her here.

Once the butler left the room, Anna took a sip of her tea and began, “Did your mother enjoy the evening last night?”

“She did,” Lavinia confirmed. “Mama rarely goes out anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She took another careful sip of tea. “And your brother? How did he fare?”

“Rome is Rome.” Lavinia gave a sigh of sisterly exasperation. “He only found out about my condition just before we left for Haverford’s, and I swear he never took his eyes off me all night! As if I would shatter spontaneously or some such nonsense.”

“Perhaps he’s simply concerned for your health.”

“Perhaps. However, I cannot thank you enough for giving up your seat at the card table. I do believe that was the first time during the entire evening that I didn’t look up and find my brother glaring at me.”

“I am a terrible cardplayer,” Anna confessed. “It was a pleasure for me
not
to have to play.”

“Instead you were the sacrifice to my brother’s bad temper,” Lavinia said, with a grin that held no hint of regret. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course.” Anna reached for a biscuit. “I do
hope his ill humor doesn’t overly affect you as of late.”

“I just ignore him,” Lavinia said, with a shrug. “I know he means well, but I am a married woman now.”

Anna’s lips curved at the bittersweet memory of her own brother. “I do understand.”

“My goodness, do forgive me!” Lavinia’s face reflected her dismay. “You just lost your brother recently. What a clod pate I am!”

“Please don’t distress yourself. I take comfort in listening to you speak of your brother. It brings back good memories.”

“But still…” Lavinia took a biscuit from her plate and plunked it onto Anna’s. “There. Now you will understand how truly sorry I am.”

“Indeed.” Solemnly, Anna bit into the biscuit. “I do appreciate your sincere regret.”

Lavinia giggled. “Oh, you are too delightful, Anna! I do hope Haverford speaks to your father soon so that we may be cousins that much earlier. Are you attending the theater with Haverford on Thursday?”

“Yes, as are my parents. Lord Haverford has invited us to share his box.”

“I will be there, as well. I haven’t been to the theater in ages!”

“And will your husband be attending?”

“I do hope so. His political parties frequently take him away, so I would hate for him to miss it.” She reached for her last biscuit. “Mother does not
enjoy the theater, and Roman may or may not attend, as the whim strikes him.”

Anna strived to keep her tone casual. “Does he not enjoy the theater either?”

“I expect that he does, but business keeps him from such pleasure. He has just resigned his commission and has turned his attention toward a diplomatic position in the government.”

“How exciting. I imagine he will travel frequently.”

“It all depends if Edgar Vaughn will grant him the position. But Rome is determined to win the post, and I do not doubt that he will do so. Once Rome sets his mind to something he is relentless.”

Rome’s voice echoed through her mind.
This isn’t over, Rose. I will find you, and we will finish what we’ve started.

Anna choked on her tea.

“Goodness, are you all right?”

Anna dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Yes, quite.”

A knock sounded at the front door, echoing to them even in the tiny parlor. Anna glanced at the clock on the mantel and realized she had spent more than the proper allotted amount of time chatting with Lavinia. She set down her teacup. “Goodness, is that the time? Mama will be livid if I am late to my fitting at the dressmaker’s.”

“Must you go so soon?”

“Unfortunately, I must. I expect I shall see you Thursday night at the theater?”

“Indeed.”

The butler appeared. “Mrs. Prudence Wentworth.”

Lavinia wrinkled her nose, and whispered, “Gossiping old prune. But she is one of Henry’s political allies.”

Both young ladies stood as an older woman entered the room. Mrs. Wentworth steamed forward like a ship at full sail, her impressive bosom leading the way. “Mrs. Emberly, how well you look.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wentworth. Have you met Miss Rosewood?”

The daunting matron pulled out a quizzing glass and inspected Anna. “Admiral Rosewood’s daughter, I presume?”

“Yes, Mrs. Wentworth.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Ah, tea! Just the thing!”

“Allow me to pour you a cup,” Lavinia said, doing so at once.

Mrs. Wentworth sank her substantial body into a chair. “Are you joining us, Miss Rosewood?”

“Unfortunately, no. I have an appointment I must keep.”

“Good day to you then,” Mrs. Wentworth said, then took the cup and saucer handed to her by Lavinia.

“Thank you for calling,” Lavinia said. “Bagsley will see you out.”

“Until Thursday.” With a gracious nod at Mrs.
Wentworth, Anna left the room, shutting the doors behind her. She paused for a moment to gather her composure.

The Devereaux family was strangely lacking in pretense—or was it subtlety? Such candor, such open affection. These things didn’t exist in Anna’s world.

She glanced around for Bagsley. Finding the hallway deserted, she wondered if he might be fetching Lizzie.

“Bagsley?” she called. Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and she walked toward them. “Are you there?”

Silence. She gave a small huff of exasperation. She didn’t fancy going back into the parlor and facing Mrs. Wentworth just so Lavinia could ring for the butler, but what choice did she have? She turned back toward the parlor, but something caught her eye in the room directly across the hall. Glancing about one more time for a servant and seeing none, she walked over and stepped into what looked to be Henry Emberly’s office.