Regina Scott (13 page)

Yet even as he debated going to look for Imogene, another familiar face stole past him: the toad, moving quickly and with surprising purpose. Vaughn frowned. The fellow was alone, and by the way he kept glancing around as if fearing to be noticed, he wanted it that way. Interesting. The toad generally preferred the attentions of his peers. Certainly he ought to be enjoying Samantha’s attentions tonight. What forced him from her side? Was he off to meet the marquess?

Vaughn slipped deeper into the shadows and pursued.

He’d thought the rudesby knew where he was going, but the toad’s path was a rambling one, taking this turn and that and always away from the most traveled areas. Twice the fellow missed his direction and had to double back, forcing Vaughn to leap into the shrubbery to avoid detection. He did not want to know the state of his cravat. He had just extricated himself from a particularly difficult boxwood when he heard voices.

“’Bout time you got here,” a man growled. “Everyone’s arrived but you.”

“Had to be certain I wasn’t followed,” the toad declared.

“Well, you failed,” another man sneered. “Everard is right behind you, but never you fear. We’ll take care of him.”

Vaughn stiffened in the act of flicking leaves from his sleeve. Something else moved in the shadows, sneaking closer to him, and he didn’t doubt for a minute that mischief was its intent. Oh, for his blade! But without means of defense, there was nothing for it. Though it went against everything he stood for, he’d have to run.

A man crashed through a shrub and lunged for him. Vaughn twisted out of his way. Another came barreling around the corner. Vaughn ducked under the fellow’s swing, used the motion to trip the fellow and darted down a side path. He heard the rattle of their boots on the gravel as they pursued him.

Were these more followers of the marquess? They seemed a harder breed than the gentlemen from the opera. What were they doing in Vauxhall? It wasn’t unknown for people to be accosted or robbed if they strayed too far from the beaten path, but these men had implied some sort of secret meeting was about to take place, one they intended to protect. He had to find his way back to the crowds, or he was in trouble.

He glanced behind him. The fitful moonlight showed three men stalking him. As he’d suspected, these were stocky brutes, very likely used to swinging their ham fists to make their points. They were not intending to give him a polite reprimand. They meant for the authorities to find his bloodied corpse.

He darted down another path, hoping to see brighter lights ahead. But someone had doused the lanterns, leaving only the restless light of a cloud-shrouded moon to pick out the hedges in silver. He stumbled along, feeling his way, throwing himself through the darkness.

But try as he might, he couldn’t shake the hounds at his heels. He could hear the shrubs protesting the men’s passage, the grunt when a heavy body shoved through a hedge. They seemed to know the dark recesses better than he did. They were moving to cut off his retreat, forcing him away from any chance of help. He didn’t have much time.

Lord, if You hear sinners, help me!

He didn’t have much faith in his prayer or the kindness of the God who was supposed to hear it. He thought he might easily die this night, and he wondered whether anyone besides his family would mourn him. What was one less poet, after all, one less rake in the world?

Suddenly, a figure in white darted into his path with a flash of moonlight on satin. Even as he tried to pull up his headlong flight, she motioned to him.

“This way!” Imogene hissed, snagging his arm and drawing him into an alcove among the hedges. She wrapped her cloak about them both and held him tightly under the wool. He fancied he heard her heart beating in time with his, an erratic tattoo that thundered with the knowledge that death followed.

But not this night. His pursuers pounded past, and the sounds faded into the darkness until it was only him and Imogene in all the world.

He couldn’t see her under the fabric; he could only feel her pressed against him. Thankfulness welled up inside him. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to lower his head and kiss her.

He had kissed any number of other ladies over the years when they’d offered their lips willingly. This was different. She trembled against him, threw her arms around his neck and hugged him closer. He felt as if everything he was and hoped to be was locked against her soft lips, begging for acceptance, for faith, for a moment to see the world as a place of possibilities again.

He’d been running to save his life, but it dawned on him that the greater danger lay here, in Imogene’s arms, for here he might lose his very self.

Or find it.

Chapter Thirteen

I
mogene melted. She’d never been kissed before, never allowed a gentleman close enough to want his kiss. The warmth of Vaughn’s body against hers, the pressure of his lips, the emotions singing through her blood were like nothing she could have imagined. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move. She only knew she didn’t want him to stop.

But stop he did, withdrawing slowly, as if he had relished the touch as much as she had. “Thank you.”

A laugh bubbled up. “Do you always thank the ladies from whom you steal a kiss, Mr. Everard?”

“Only when I mean it.” She could hear the humor in his voice, as well. He pulled the cloak away, and the cool night air rushed over her. She shivered as she bundled the wool closer.

It was hard to make him out in the shadows of the hedges on either side, but she heard him move to the opening. His silhouette was a darker shape against the night as he turned from side to side to gaze up and down the path.

“It seems they’ve gone,” he reported. “Do you know the way back?”

“Yes,” she said, moving to join him on legs that still felt a little shaky. “And I’ll show you, after we talk.”

He turned, and the moon broke free of the clouds to anoint the planes of his face. “Willing to talk to me now, are you?”

Imogene tapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, but don’t you dare ascribe it to that kiss! Something’s troubling my father, and I want you to tell me what you know about the matter.”

She thought he might protest, but he took her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers, his grip strong, steady. “Let’s get you safely back among the living first.”

Though disappointment poked at her, she could see his point. She’d been lucky to find this hiding place, and who knew when those ruffians would circle back and discover it, as well. She’d heard about robbers stalking the unwary in Vauxhall, but who would have thought they’d dare to take on someone as formidable as Vaughn Everard? Yet what other explanation could there be for finding him this way?

Now she nodded and allowed him to lead her onto the path, then pointed him in one direction.
Please, Lord, get us back safely!

She felt a certainty she knew didn’t come from inside her. It hadn’t been easy following her father into the trees, even with Jenkins’ help. She and her footman had set off along the paths of Vauxhall, Jenkins’s size and fierce scowl deterring more than casual interest. They’d spotted the marquess down toward the end of the Grand Walk, near the golden statue of Aurora, but even as she’d raised a hand to hail him he’d slipped into the trees behind the statue.

She thought surely Jenkins would balk at following him, but her footman seemed to think his lordship was in danger as well, so he’d all but dragged Imogene in pursuit. Still, they’d lost her father several times. Only the fact that the taller Jenkins could peer ahead or step up on a stone bench to locate him again had allowed them to trace him so far.

Then they had come to the fork in the path, which she and Vaughn were now approaching. It was a small clearing among the trees, unlit save for the moonlight above, with branches leading in all four directions like points of a compass. Vaughn turned to her expectantly.

“This is where I lost Jenkins,” she said. “And my father. I was looking for either of them when I spotted you and those men.” She nodded to the path on the left. “That way leads back to the Grand Walk.”

Vaughn obediently turned in that direction. Though he strolled along as if out for a constitutional, she could feel the tension in his arm, see it in the way his head was cocked as if listening for sounds of pursuit. Try as she might, all she could hear was the rustling of branches as if the trees were leaning forward to catch a glimpse of them as they passed.

“So you were following your father,” Vaughn murmured. “Why would he be out here, so far from the celebrations?”

Imogene shook her head. “I have no idea. Why were you out here?”

He ducked under a low-hanging branch. “I was following your friend Lord Wentworth. It seems the darkness is all too popular this evening.”

Lord Wentworth? She would never have suspected him for admiring nature, or art for that matter, especially not after the way he’d sneered at the opera. “Do you think he’s in league with the French?”

His grip on her hand tightened, but his voice was light. “I do not believe the French have sunk so low.”

Imogene held back a chuckle. The night was so still, she could hardly believe hundreds of people waited somewhere beyond the trees.

“Then I cannot think what my father is doing out here,” she said. “And now I’ve lost him and Jenkins, too!”

His grip eased. “Very likely your footman will be the most annoyed by that fact.”

“I know.” Imogene sighed. “I’ll make it up to him. I just had to find my father, and the only way to do it was to split up. Jenkins fought me on it, but in the end he had to obey. I, however, have a choice.”

“What do you mean?” The frown was evident in his voice.

“My father ordered me to have nothing more to do with you.”

“Indeed.” She couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed. Somewhere close by came a deep thud, and he froze, putting her behind him as if to protect her from it.

The sky above them brightened with a thousand sparkles that crackled in the air. She could see the glow reflected in Vaughn’s hair.

“They’ve started the fireworks,” Imogene realized. “We should hurry.”

He picked up speed, feet skimming the gravel as lightly as a bird’s. Imogene had to lift her skirts with her free hand and scurry to keep up. Ahead, she saw the lights surrounding the golden statue.

Vaughn pulled up at the edge of the trees. “Wait a moment.”

The cannon boomed again, and the sky brightened in silver and white. She could see him peering out into the night, look intent, as if he could frighten off any other ruffians by his gaze alone. If she’d been his enemy, she’d have thought twice. As it was, she wanted to reach out, stroke the lines of worry from his eyes and bring back his smile.

The light faded, and he drew her out onto the walk. Other couples stood arm in arm, but they were far enough away and entirely too absorbed in each other or the spectacle in the sky to notice Vaughn and Imogene.

Still, he released her hand. “You shouldn’t be seen with me here. It isn’t safe.”

She couldn’t believe him. Holding his hand had felt far safer than standing here without that support. “What do you mean? Those men, why were they chasing you?”

His gaze kept roaming the area, as if he could find his assailants even now. “I stumbled across a secret meeting. They wanted their secret kept.”

She felt colder even as another firework burst above to the murmurs of appreciation from the watching crowd. “They would have beaten you?”

“Very likely they would have killed me.”

When she shuddered, he took a step closer. “Make no mistake, Imogene,” he said. “You saved my life.”

She forced her fears aside and gazed up at him. “Turnabout is fair play, Mr. Everard.”

He inclined his head. “Then we are even. I’ll walk behind you until we can see the supper boxes, then I’ll watch you safety there.”

Imogene stiffened. “What about our talk?”

He bent his head and as the night brightened once again, she could see the care lining his face. “Soon. I never lie, remember, Imogene? But do not ask me to risk your life, for I won’t do it, not even to save my own.”

How could she argue with that? Always he protested he was no hero, yet always he acted the part. Still, she didn’t think he’d appreciate it if she were to point that out.

“Very well,” she agreed. “But name a time, a place.”

He answered readily enough. “Tomorrow, three in the afternoon, Hyde Park, the path to Kensington. If your father can hide there, so can we.”

* * *

After making sure Imogene had reached her family box safely, and cringing at the scold her mother delivered, Vaughn returned to the Everard supper box. He wasn’t surprised to find Samantha and her sponsor sitting alone. Whatever business the toad had had in the dark recesses of Vauxhall, he knew Vaughn had intruded. Even his exalted consequence would balk at showing his face again tonight.

“We should go,” he told Samantha from the grass below the second-story box.

She frowned from her seat. Her pale muslin glowed in the light of the lanterns affixed to the structure, and her hair gleamed more gold than the gilded arch on either side. “Why?” she demanded. “Lord Wentworth will wonder why we’ve left.”

“Rather you should wonder why he abandoned you,” Vaughn countered.

She raised her head in defiance, but Lady Claire put a hand on her arm. Vaughn rather thought she resembled the golden statue he’d just passed, all elegant lines and stern features. “What should we know about the gentleman, Mr. Everard?” she asked.

Vaughn felt as if a dozen eyes watched his every move, as people in the other supper boxes shifted seats, focused on the lone figure below. “Nothing I can tell you here,” he replied. “I know you came in his coach. Give me a moment, and I’ll hunt up a hack. Then I’ll escort you home.”

Samantha’s look darkened, but he didn’t know if it was because of her suitor’s actions or his own.

She pouted in the hired coach as they set off for the bridge that would return them to the north bank of the Thames. He knew she would have preferred the dark water crossing, with its hint of adventure, but he was in no mood for company.

Lady Claire seemed more savvy. She sat next to Samantha across from him, her gaze thoughtful in the light of the coach’s lanterns. “I believe you were going to tell us a tale, Mr. Everard,” she said as the coach bumped over the bridge and the lights of London brightened the interior further. “You know how we enjoy your literary license.”

Vaughn smiled. “Very well. There was once a toad who fancied himself a man. He pursued everything fashionable. He had his coat cut by Weston, his boots by Hoby. He tamed his croak to resemble speech, though he tended to forget a word or two along the way.”

Samantha giggled.

“He met with surprisingly good success,” Vaughn continued, leaning back, “for the
ton
always welcomes the new and novel, and those who entertain are sure to please. His success, unfortunately, went to his feeble mind. He made two fatal mistakes. First, he dared to court the most beautiful girl in all of London...”

“In all the land,” Samantha corrected him.

Lady Claire raised a honey-colored brow. “Might as well make it in all the world.”

Vaughn inclined his head. “In all of creation, then. As you can imagine, her family took umbrage.”

“And where did they take poor Mr. Umbrage?” Samantha asked, laughter in every word.

“To the Tower,” Vaughn intoned. “But not, alas, for his impertinence in thinking himself worthy of courting the girl. No, you see his second mistake was more vile. He thought to align himself with powerful men, men interested in toppling the very crown of England.”

“No!” Samantha cried, still laughing.

“Yes,” Vaughn replied, making his voice hard and unforgiving. “Your suitor has aligned himself with our enemy. I fear whatever they have planned will burst upon us shortly, as clear as the fireworks over Vauxhall and just as explosive.”

Samantha sobered, glancing between him and her sponsor. “Do you truly think they mean to attack the king?”

It was evident Lady Claire thought as much, for her look was leveled at Vaughn. “You must go to the authorities.”

“And tell them what? That Wentworth seems to have secret business with the marquess? That the marquess is not seen frequently with his family? That he refused to discuss the matter with me? We have no proof.”

“We have Monsieur Chevalier’s testimony,” Samantha put in.

“The word of a man who confessed to espionage and attempted murder—and a foreigner besides.” Vaughn shook his head. “No one will take his word against the marquess’s.”

“What do you intend to do?” Lady Claire asked.

Vaughn shrugged. “He offered to meet me tomorrow.”

Samantha stiffened. “Don’t go! It’s a trap!”

He smiled at her. “Have no fear, infant. The location he suggested was his office in Whitehall. He won’t dare show his hand there.”

“If he won’t show his hand,” Lady Claire pointed out, “you’ll likely get no answers either.”

“Perhaps not,” Vaughn agreed. “But for his friendship with Uncle and the fact that he is Lady Imogene’s father, I owe him the opportunity for an explanation.”

“Lady Imogene.” Samantha said the name as if it soured her tongue. “I think you let her rule your emotions.”

Once he would have hotly denied it. Now he wasn’t so sure. “And if it was your favor I curried, I doubt you’d complain.”

She grinned at him. “Of course not.”

“But you won’t go alone,” Lady Claire said. “I’m sure Richard or his brother would be delighted to accompany you.”

This time he did bristle. “I need no one’s protection.”

“Certainly not,” she agreed. “I was thinking of the poor marquess. I would not want to be in his shoes should your suspicions prove true.”

* * *

As it was, she needn’t have worried. Vaughn presented himself at his lordship’s office at precisely five minutes to the hour of ten the next morning. It was a narrow suite, with an antechamber at the front, and the paint was none too new. Perhaps the marquess’s power was already waning. Or had his superiors suspected him of seeking positions beyond him and decided to keep him under lock and key?

Unfortunately, the secretary working at the desk in the antechamber shook his head.

“My apologies, Mr. Everard, but I haven’t seen his lordship this morning and neither has the Prime Minister or the First Lord of the Admiralty. If you find him, please let him know his presence is urgently needed.”

Vaughn thanked him and left. He hadn’t truly believed the marquess would meet with him. But the fact that his superiors couldn’t locate him was more concerning. Had they realized the danger he posed to England, or were the marquess’s plans coming to fruition?

Vaughn made the rounds in case news was circulating: White’s, Tattersall’s, the Exchange, the Horse Guard’s parade. Everywhere, life went on as usual. Ladies and gentlemen cheered the lovely May weather, complained about the rising cost of goods and worried that Napoleon would cross the Channel. Indeed,
The Times
reported that all naval ships had been ordered to sea because of rumors that the French squadrons had been seen crossing the Atlantic, perhaps to prey on British territory in the West Indies.