Rebel Baron (32 page)

      
Miranda jerked Lori to arm's length. “You went alone to his home?”

      
Lori almost laughed at the horrified expression on her mother's face. “No—that is, I mean, yes, I did visit him, but I was not alone. I took Tilda along as chaperone.”

      
“Is everyone involved in this insane conspiracy against me?”

      
“It is no conspiracy, and no one wishes you anything but happiness...happiness I don't believe you ever knew with Father.” Lori knew she was trespassing into forbidden territory, but it was too late to call the words back.

      
“I was happy with your father. You have no right to say otherwise. And just what do you know of such worldly matters that would entitle you to sit in judgment on me?”

      
“None,” Lori replied meekly. “I made a foolish mistake with Mr. Winters, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of understanding what's been going on beneath my very eyes ever since the day Lord Rushcroft rescued you from the carriage crash in Hyde Park.”

      
Miranda felt the guilt stab deeply. She, too, remembered that scene very well. “I'm sorry that you had to see such a sordid—”

      
“No! Never say such a thing,” Lori protested, embracing her mother once more. “What I saw was two people trying desperately not to admit that they were attracted to each other.”

      
Miranda broke away, shaking her head. How had her innocent child suddenly become such a keen observer of matters about which she was supposed to know nothing? “Whether or not the baron and I...that is, even if I were attracted to him, it signifies nothing. I'm an older woman. He's a younger man.”

      
“He's closer to your age than to mine,” Lori volleyed back immediately.

      
“So he once said to me, also,” Miranda replied tartly. “No, it simply won't work. One cannot make mutton into lamb. That time in my life is over.”

      
“But that's not true! You're only thirty-five—”

      
“Thirty-six,” Miranda corrected her.

      
“As if that makes you ancient.” Lori rolled her eyes in disgust. She knew that her mother's feelings of inferiority had something to do with her marriage. Well, the baron would have to sort that out, because she was certain her mother would never say anything against Will Auburn to his only child. “You have a whole life before you yet. Please don't let it slip away,” she cajoled.

      
“I believe that should be my speech to you,” Miranda said dryly, recovering her equilibrium a bit. “My life is full already. I have my work and, for a little while longer, I have you.” She stroked her daughter's bright hair fondly. “It is more than enough, Lori. Much more than enough.” Who was she trying to convince—her daughter or herself?

      
“You cannot send Lord Rushcroft away,” Lori persisted doggedly. “Someone has been trying to kill you, and he can protect you until he finds out who it is. Why, even tonight he sent Mr. St. John to see us home. And he insists you not leave the house without a man to protect you.” There, a possible trump card?

      
“I can easily afford to engage the services of a bodyguard, dearheart, without the baron's assistance.”

      
“He cares about you, Mother. I believe he loves you. And you love him. But for now, all I ask is that you not cut him out of your life.”

      
Miranda shook her head. “This is one time when I cannot accede to your wishes, Lori. Please try to understand.”

      
Lori had held her temper as much as her eighteen years allowed, but in the face of such intractable stubbornness, she gave in and stamped her foot. “You are the one who needs to learn understanding. I merely lack patience!”

      
Miranda watched her storm from the room and felt doubly desolate. She had made a fool of herself over a younger man and she had alienated her only child...all in the space of one wretched day.

* * * *

      
Lori paced in her room, holding one of Callie's kittens in her arms. The purring animal did little to soothe her frustration. Tilda folded up Lori's discarded clothing, checking to see what required laundering and what did not.

      
“I tell you, she's impossible,” the girl murmured.

      
Tilda arched one eyebrow. “Odd, but she's said the same about you from time to time.”

      
“I had hoped once they...well, once he kissed her, she'd see that she loved him,” Lori said forlornly, nuzzling the kitten for comfort.

      
“Like you believed you loved Mr. Winters after you kissed him?” Tilda reminded her gently.

      
Lori deflated, flopping ungracefully onto her bed. The kitten squealed and jumped away. “You know that was different. I was just a silly girl. What shall we do, Tilda?”

      
“Well, Mr. St. John has been instructed to see that the place is watched and someone accompanies your mother whenever she goes to the City. I suppose he could be our intermediary with the baron.” She frowned then. “At least until this troubling matter of unaccidental accidents is straightened out.”

      
“I tried to reason about that with Mother, too. It didn't work.”

      
“Then I imagine we'll just have to leave it in the hands of Lord Rushcroft for the time being, won't we?”

      
Lori brightened, watching the kitten begin to bat at a tassel on her four-poster bed curtain. “If the baron finds out who's been trying to harm her, she'll be grateful and come to her senses. But in the meanwhile, Tilda, I have an idea...”

* * * *

      
“I don't like it. We've paid O'Connell too much already and nothing's come of it,” he fretted as he sawed off a large piece of steak and stuffed it into his mouth. The food in this abysmal hotel was not half bad, considering everything.

      
“What do you mean, nothing? Caruthers' mews nearly burned down and he was frightened to death his precious horses were going to roast. And he believes that fool Winters was responsible,” his companion argued, taking a small bite of meat, then shoving the plate away in disgust. The food here was truly awful.

      
"That was a good idea, using that Irishman to ‘lend’ money to Winters for his infernally unlucky gambling habit."

      
“I do have a good idea now and then. If only you could conclude your arrangements and have done with this mess.”

      
“I told you, as long as Miranda Auburn is alive, that's impossible,” he snapped.

      
“It isn't as if we haven't exhausted every trick in the book to change that! That harpy has the most incredible luck I've ever seen. But I have been thinking of another plan that will work.”

      
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked across the table at his accomplice. “Now that all these so-called accidental attempts on her life have failed, she's being guarded like the crown jewels. All courtesy of Brandon Caruthers, damn his eyes. Just how do you propose to get to her?”

      
“By indirection. As you say, everyone is worried about the mother. So we'll take an alternate approach—through the daughter. If motherly love isn't greatly overrated, I suspect we'll have Miranda Auburn just where we want her. Dead and buried.”

      
His eyes lit up. “Kidnap the daughter and lure the mother after her…hmmm, not a bad idea.”

      
“I'll make the arrangements as soon as I speak with our source,” his companion murmured with a cold smile. “Just give me a few days to work out the details.”
What a fool you are. When I'm through, I won't just be rid of the Auburns, I'll be rid of you, too. And I'll control everything!

* * * *

      
“Please, Mr. Aimesley, you must say yes. She'll listen to you. She's been working much too hard and needs to take time away from her office,” Lori cajoled.

      
Kent Aimesley leaned back in the chair behind his large desk and sighed. As Miranda Auburn's senior associate, his was the largest office in the building, with the exception of his employer's. He studied the golden-haired young woman so earnestly asking for his help.

      
Miss Auburn could be most persistent when she got an idea in her head. “I fear it's no use. Until we complete the negotiations for the railway, your mother will insist on overseeing matters herself—and I must sail for America again within the week. With one of us on each side of the Atlantic, it will be impossible to prevail upon her to spend time away from here.”

      
Lori looked around nervously. Although no one had seen her slip into Mr. Aimesley’s office, she knew her mother was at the end of the hall. If Miranda caught her meddling this way in business affairs, she'd confine her to the house like a prisoner. There was no way to explain to this dull man the real reason she wanted her mother to stay home. One could hardly ask a former suitor to assist in her matchmaking!

      
She twisted her handkerchief and allowed the tears to well up in her eyes, deciding on a partial truth. “You don't know that several attempts have been made on her life, do you?” she asked.

      
“Good heavens! When? How?” Aimesley shot forward in his chair and stood up.

      
“Oh, dear, if Mother knew I'd told anyone, even you, Mr. Aimesley, she would be furious. But there have been several near misses. We were attacked at the opera by three street ruffians. And then there were two carriage crashes and even a shooting incident....” She waited a beat, allowing him to digest what she'd said. If he still harbored the tendresse for her mother that she hoped he did, Lori felt certain she could win him over.

      
“Well, that does put the matter in a different light, I must agree,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could convince her that she need not come in to the City, at least until I have to sail again. And I might put that off for a bit over a week, if I can make the proper arrangements. I shall see what I can do.”

      
Lori beamed. “I knew I could count on you, Mr. Aimesley. Mother trusts you implicitly. If you assure her that matters are in hand here, you'll make my task of keeping her safe much easier.”

* * * *

      
“She's hiding from me, dammit,” Brand muttered to himself.

      
“Turned you away at the front door, did she? Well, I suppose you could force your way past that feeble butler of hers and confront her, or waylay her as she enters her business offices, but somehow I don't think that would be quite the thing,” Sin said dryly.

      
“I'm ever so glad you're amused,” Brand growled.

      
“I believe a bit of subtlety and patience are called for—never your strong suit, old chap,” St. John replied with a cheerful grin. He and Tilda had been in constant touch for the past several days since the weekend at Rushcroft Hall and the breaking off of his friend's courtship of Miss Auburn. “The lady's daughter has concocted a scheme or two. How do you feel about attending a ball at the Earl of Falconridge's city house tomorrow night?” From inside his jacket he pulled a heavy velum envelope sealed with the crest of Falconridge and handed it to Brand.

      
Caruthers tore it open and read while murmuring, “I've scarcely met Falconridge. He's a Liberal.”

      
“And being a staunch Conservative, you avoid him in Lords as if he were a plague carrier.” St. John chuckled tolerantly. “You are beginning to sound frighteningly English, m'lord.”

      
Brand snorted. “Just because I make an innocent comment in passing, you needn't insult me for it.” He returned his attention to the invitation. “How the devil did you get this?”

      
“Miss Auburn prevailed upon Mrs. Winters, who asked her father if he'd consider such a heresy as inviting you. He agreed.”

      
“And I take it Miss Auburn has also prevailed upon her mother to attend?”

      
“How could she not when her daughter is once again out on the marriage mart? Of course, there will be a bit of gossip since Miss Auburn spurned you less than a week ago and now you'll both be present at the same function.”

      
“It'll be a press of hundreds, if Falconridge’s reputation as a host is to be believed. Not exactly the best way to speak to Miranda.”

      
“I'm certain you'll think of something,” Sin replied dryly.

* * * *

      
The music was lilting, but Miranda felt no urge to tap her toe as she watched Lori dancing with the son of a young industrialist from Manchester. The cream of the peerage and the most wealthy commoners in the country filled the huge ballroom to overflowing. Falconridge was an earl; but his politics, as well as the shipping firm his family owned, brought him into contact with wealthy men of business, many of whom he counted as close friends. Being a woman in that men's arena, Miranda had not been extended the same privileges and had never before received an invitation to one of his countess' famous balls.