Revenge Wears Rubies (10 page)

Galen read it over again to make sure he’d struck the right note between discreet politeness and an overt invitation to conspiracy. It was a deliberately clumsy play for a list of Haley’s social appointments, and Mrs. Shaw was no fool. She would have to realize that he could have made discreet inquiries and gotten whatever information he wanted without resorting to writing a letter. But asking for it tipped his hand, and, he hoped, signaled his desire for an ally in the chase.

“And if I read you correctly, Mrs. Shaw, you’re like most women and are more than eager for a little conspiracy of your own.” Galen folded it carefully, adding his personal seal.

“What’s that about conspiracies?”

Galen uncoiled from his chair at the unexpected voice coming from the corner. Michael Rutherford was an imposing figure as he stood unmoving just inside the room, his broad frame unmistakable, even in the shadows.

“Damn it, Michael! You could knock, couldn’t you?”

Michael smiled. “And spoil my only pleasure? Besides, I didn’t want to ring the bell and bother your servants. They deserve a good night’s rest, don’t they?”

“Late for social calls, isn’t it?” Galen tried to disguise his relief at the intrusion, grateful for the diversion. He knew better than to ask how Rutherford had managed to gain entrance to his bedroom without alerting a single soul belowstairs. “Here, take a seat like a civilized caller and stop lurking over there.”

Michael shrugged, then moved farther into the room. “A bit late, yes. I was driving by and saw your light and knew you weren’t sleeping.” He leaned over the unlit fireplace, as if he could still absorb heat from a phantom fire. “I ran into Ashe earlier and he said that he was looking for Josiah. He was apparently confident that Josiah, out of all of us, wouldn’t censure his quest for entertainment.”

“They could both of them benefit from restraint, but I’ll not be the one to criticize. I’m hardly . . . innocent myself.”

“No one is,” Michael conceded, turning back from the fireplace but waving away the offered seat. “So what is this conspiracy you’re planning?”

Galen considered lying for a fleeting moment, but one look in Michael’s icy gray eyes and he knew it was pointless. The man had an incredible knack for discerning insincerity, and frankly, Galen valued his friendship too much to risk it. Bad enough that he’d held back with Rowan . . .

“A small bit of revenge, Rutherford. Nothing more.”

Michael’s look was tinged with skepticism. “Revenge is never a small matter, Hawke.”

“Perhaps you’re right. But in any case, I’m taking care of this personally and didn’t wish to involve the others.”

“Have you been wronged then? Personally?” Michael pressed, taking the seat now in one graceful movement to settle across from Galen.

“I made a promise to John. I’m acting on his behalf.”

Michael leaned back against the padded carved arch of the chair, his look thoughtful. “Really? In what way?”

Galen took a deep breath before he plunged ahead. “Before he died, he asked me to see after his fiancée when we returned. But before I could even begin to seek her out, I saw a notice of her appearance in Town and of her new engagement.”

“I see.”

“Do you? Since we returned and word was sent of his death, it’s not been a year. Not eight months. And yet his
true
love has decided to kick up her heels and take on another lover without so much as a public sniffle!” Galen felt the anger in him unleashing and gaining momentum. “It’s the worst sort of betrayal, and I won’t stand idly by and watch Miss Moreland dance on his grave.”

“Galen, I’m not sure you—” Michael stopped himself, then went on in a more careful tone. “What could you do? She’s made her choice. Even if you despise that choice, it’s hers to make.”

“Yes, hers to make. But mine not to play the spectator. Not this time, Michael. If Miss Moreland wishes to ignore decency then I don’t see why I can’t do the same.”

“What do you intend?”

“I’ll expose her for the heartless witch she is and let the lady live with her choices.”

“Expose her?”

Galen left his chair to cross over to his desk, retrieving a packet of papers from the top drawer. He brought them back and handed them over to Michael. “Drafts, of course. The artist I commissioned this morning to do the caricature promised to refine it later if I wished, but the text for the article alone should do the trick when the time comes.”

“My God,” Michael exclaimed softly. “You’re going to crucify her in the press.”

“They adore gossip, and this tidbit will be fact by the time I’m finished.” Galen sat back down, the tension in his body unrelenting with his emotions. “She’ll get no less than she deserves.”

“So you say! I’m not sure you can appoint yourself her judge, jury, and executioner, Galen!”

“I didn’t. John did.”

Michael handed back the papers as if they scorched his fingers. “You’ll go too far, Galen.”

“I’ll go as far as I need to, Michael, to set this girl on her heels and make it up to John.”

“John’s dead. I don’t think he cares.”

Galen’s jaw clenched in fury. “I care. I made him a promise to see to her, and by God, I’ll see to her as I wish. This is not your concern anymore, Michael. She was the only thing that John cared about, and she repays him by wearing party dresses and cheerfully breezing through the social season as if she hadn’t a care in world?”

“Like the Lucknow widows? Weren’t there a few tongues wagging at how cheerful they were? Perhaps women react differently sometimes, to death. Perhaps Miss Moreland . . . wants to embrace life instead of dwelling on John’s miserable end.” Michael leaned forward, desperate to convince his friend to change course.

“She isn’t embracing life!” Galen left his seat, unable to sit still any longer. He paced angrily as he spoke. “She’s embracing a fat little troll’s bank accounts! She throws away the heart of the most decent man I’ve ever known, and for what? Money? My God, Michael! I know that London is no stranger to the practice, but—I cannot let it stand, not this time.”

“You could, Galen.”

“I won’t!” he roared back, instantly aware of how it all sounded, especially with Michael’s calm voice in counter to his. He took a step back and let out a long breath to try to decrease the chokehold of anger that made his hands shake. “I can’t, Michael. I know it probably makes me a lesser man, but I think of John and I cannot see any other course open to me.”

Michael stood, carefully unfolding as if wary of making any sudden movements. But when their eyes met, there was no trace of uncertainty. “Your cartoon alluded that she was onto would-be husband number three. Are you throwing young bucks in her path then? Or are you taking a more direct hand in it, Galen?”

Galen held his ground, his silence supplying the answer.

Michael sighed. “And what if Miss Moreland doesn’t fall for the trap? Will you abandon your quest and accept her choice?”

“She won’t fall,” Galen said, his eyes glittering like a predator’s. “She’ll run into my arms. And then we won’t hear arguments about her good character and questionable choices, will we?”

Michael shook his head and began to move toward the concealed servant’s entrance he’d come through. But Galen called after him, and his steps slowed.

“I’m asking for your silence, Michael. Even if you don’t agree with what I’m doing, swear to me that you won’t interfere.”

Michael turned back, assessing his friend. They’d been through so much. But Galen had borne the brunt of their captor’s attentions more than most. Galen had been John’s protector in prison, shielding him whenever he could. Michael suspected it was because John reminded him of the younger brother that Hawke had seen die in their childhood. So after months of torture and starvation, and the strange twists of their escape, John’s death had hit Galen particularly hard.

And now he’d seized on the idea that he could set things right by punishing this girl—for not grieving? For not being faithful to John? For not sharing Galen’s pain? Michael knew it was an unfathomable blend of all those things and a dozen more that Galen couldn’t name.

Easier to hate this woman and distract himself with revenge than accept fate
, Michael mused. Every fiber in his being knew that Galen was off in the fog, but fighting him wouldn’t help. And Michael had seen too many battles to invoke one now.
I’m just worried you’ll go too far, Galen . . . but even if you’re heading for Hades, I suppose I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t acknowledge that I’ll still follow and do my best to keep you safe.
“I swear I’ll leave you to your game. And as for the rest of the Jaded . . .”

Galen smiled to hear Michael use the term.

Michael acknowledged the look before completing his vow. “Yes, the Jaded. I’ll keep our exchange tonight to myself. But if they ask, I’m not lying. I’ll keep your motives out of it, but the rest of it will be public knowledge soon enough, won’t it?”

“When I’m ready, yes.” Galen folded his arms. “Thank you, Michael.”

“Don’t thank me, Galen. Just be careful.”

He was gone before Galen could respond to try to defuse the tension between them. Even so, Galen wasn’t sure what he could have said to have soothed the rift. Michael just didn’t understand. It was a grisly business, and nothing he was ready to boast about, but Galen knew that Michael would be true to his word, and for now, he would have the freedom he needed to complete his mission.

There was a firm knock at the door.

“Are you in need of anything, sir?” Bradley’s voice was filled with a concern the solid door did nothing to muffle.

“Come in.” Galen sighed. “Come in and see for yourself that I am fine and in fact, don’t need for a thing.”

Bradley came through the door, a heavy brass candlestick holder aloft as if he’d anticipated a good brawl. “I heard shouting and could have sworn you were under attack!”

Galen shook his head. “The danger is passed, good sir. Now put that thing down before you set your nightcap on fire.”

“Trouble sleeping, then? Was it a nightmare?” Bradley pressed, lowering his candle. “Shall I send for Dr. West?”

“I don’t need a nursemaid, Bradley!”

Bradley was nonplussed. “May I make you some tea? The green tea seemed to suit you last time. Perhaps it will calm your nerves, sir.”

Galen felt a twitch of amusement at the man’s cheek, but also at the strange notion that a cup of green tea didn’t sound unappealing.
Damn it. So much for proclaiming my independence! Bradley’s getting too good at this. I’ll have to increase his wages at this pace.

“Tea, then,” Galen said. “And a plate of anything handy downstairs. I may as well eat while I’m at it. But don’t wake the cook!”

“I’m the soul of stealth, sir.” Bradley bowed curtly and retreated to fetch the tray.

“Wonderful,” he spoke aloud to the closed door. “Everyone is the soul of stealth and may come and go in this house as they wish.”

Chapter
6

The sound of a Mozart concerto filled the elegant ballroom, now appointed as an intimate music hall for the Earl of Marchfield’s guests. Aunt Alice had insisted that they were seated at the back of the room to allow them to leave discreetly if her headache should return. Haley was convinced that her dear aunt might be using these headaches more and more frequently to achieve her own aims, but it was hard to confront her chaperone since Haley wasn’t clear on Alice’s overall scheme.

For the moment, Haley was battling to politely ignore the long, heavy breathing sounds of a very sleepy Mr. Trumble seated next to her. A distracting internal debate as to how one might subtly awake him before the rumbling breaths became out-and-out snores and drew the attention of everyone in the hall was overshadowing any pleasure she may have had in the concert. So far, he’d tipped his head forward onto his chest in what she prayed might be mistaken for a meditative pose.

She leaned forward to try to catch Aunt Alice’s eye on the other side of Mr. Trumble for assistance, but her aunt had, in fact, achieved a similar repose, though with a more ladylike smile on her face and less of a tendency to snore and give herself away.

Haley lifted her fan and made a careful study of the guests in front of her and further down the row to make sure that no one else was aware of her dilemma. It wasn’t uncommon for a guest to nod off during a lengthy performance, but if the slip in etiquette intruded on someone else’s enjoyment of the evening, it was far less forgivable an offense.

She sighed with temporary relief when no one’s eyes met hers with disapproval or amusement and leaned back to consider her next strategy.
A pinch on his elbow? But if he’s startled and yelps, then I’ve humiliated him and that’s too horrible to—