The Duke's Night of Sin (5 page)

“You canna mean that my sister took the carriage and left the Gardens alone!” Priscilla set her hands on her hips, practically daring the transport waiter to tell her otherwise.

“I am afraid she did, miss.” He turned his round, bald head and peered up at her through tiny dark eyes. “She and her driver left ‘bout two minutes past. If ye listen, might even hear the carriage headed for the bridge.” He cupped a hand to his ear, then nodded at Priscilla, urging her to listen.

Priscilla stilled and listened, and aye, she heard something, though she could see very little beyond the glow of the lamp they stood beneath. It was a rattle of gravel they heard; however, the sound came from opposite the direction the transport waiter had indicated. It sounded more like rapid footsteps of another. Her body tensed, and she whirled around until she finally recognized the silhouette of her twin brother running toward them from the direction of the trees.

The waiter nervously backed far away and stood at the side of the road leading to the bridge.

“Killian!” Priscilla rushed forward, extending a pleading hand to her brother. “Thank goodness you have come.” She took his hand and pulled him to her. “I have done something terrible, wicked, and I require your help.”

“What did you do?” He looked down at her sodden gown, then grabbed her shoulders and held her back so he could see her more clearly. “Lord above, Priscilla, are you hurt?”

“Nay, Killian, I am not, but I wounded Siusan!”

Confusion filled his eyes. “What can you mean? You would never hurt our sister. You are exaggerating, surely.”

“And yet, I did hurt her.” She paused momentarily, then lowered her voice to confess. “I … I
said a terrible thing to her … about Simon,” she added sheepishly.

“Ah, Christ, why did you go and do something like that? She was already fragile as a wee bird after what happened last night.” He shook his head with disgust.

“On my honor, I did not mean to do it. I simply reacted and … I hurt her.” She curled her fingers and gestured to her gown. “She spilled wine all over it, my very favorite dress, ruining it. I canna say why I said what I did … I only know that at that moment I wanted to make her feel as horrid as I.” Priscilla sniffled. “But I am sorry for hurting her. I am! You know I love her dearly.”

Killian narrowed his eyes at her, as if assessing her honesty. “Oh, Priscilla …”

“Killian, I swear to you, I
am
sorry. I need to tell her so. Truly!” Priscilla pleaded.

“So why haven’t you?” Killian asked. “Where is she?”

“She’s taken the carriage. She’s alone, Killian, and after last night … well, you said it yourself, she’s fragile now. I fear she may attempt something rash.” She peered up at her brother as her eyes flooded with salty tears.

Killian’s eyes widened as he divined her meaning—she would leave home, just as she had
thought to do last night. He charged across the gravel. “You there. Come here!” he shouted.

The waiter, seeing a huge, angry-sounding man charging at him like a horned bull, retreated. Killian’s hand shot out and caught the waiter’s shoulder and forcefully whirled him around. “I shall have a hackney at once.” His flame blue eyes flashed, and instantly the waiter began to shake.

“Killian, nay!” Priscilla pried her brother’s large hand from the waiter and fumbled in her reticule for a coin. She pressed it into the waiter’s trembling hand. “Please, good sir, will you tell us where we might find a driver … or a hackney stand?”

“Yes, my lady. Johnny Bowen’s rig is tied off near the river. I’ll fetch him for you. He’ll take you anywhere you like.” When the waiter turned and hurried away, Priscilla narrowed her eyes at her twin.

“You dinna need to hand over a coin, Priscilla,” Killian growled. “Grant already squandered too much on tonight’s outing. Besides, I clearly had the situation well in hand.”

“Is that so?” She flicked her brow. “I daresay, another moment in your hand, and the waiter would have soiled himself, and we’d still be standing here, no closer to hiring a hackney.” Priscilla suddenly
straightened and looked around. “Where are Grant and Lachlan? Our eyes met just before I raced after Siusan.”

The waiter sidled up and gave a nod, letting Priscilla know that the hackney was on its way.

Priscilla squinted into the direction of the elms. In the light of the ripe moon, had her brothers been about, she should have been able to see them. “Where are they?”

“We all followed after you. And I could have sworn they trailed me through the wood, though they were both a bit foxed.” Killian shrugged. “Och, probably thought that you and I could deal with whatever the problem was and went back to finish off the wine.”

“Weel, if that is where their sisters’ distress ranks, then they can devise their own means to return to Mayfair.” Priscilla nodded firmly. “We shall away without them.”

“Or we could wait for a few minutes more.”

“Why ever would we do that? Have you forgotten, dear brother? Siusan is terribly shaken.”

“By-your-own-words!”

Priscilla waved a dismissive hand. “Nay, we canna wait. We must attend to her at once.”

A hackney drew up before them, and the waiter hurried over to hand Priscilla up into the vehicle.
She smiled politely at him. “Och, if only all men were so considerate,” she said, as she stepped inside, flashing a wry gaze at her twin as he leaped in, and the waiter shut the door behind him.

In a great burst, Sebastian broke through the trees just in time to see the miss handed up into a hackney. An angry-looking gentleman hurried inside behind her.

The music of Vauxhall Gardens rode the cool night air, but the crack of a whip was distinct over the din. The hackney lurched forward.

Sebastian charged for the hackney, his breathing fast and hard, but he’d managed no more than five yards before the carriage evaporated into the darkness.

He stared into the emptiness.
Bloody hell.
Bending at the waist, he propped his hands on his knees and gulped air into his burning lungs.

“I beg your pardon, sir.”

Sebastian looked up. It was the transport waiter who’d assisted the couple into the hackney.

“I could not have held them any longer. While he wanted to wait a while longer for you, the lady could not be persuaded.”

“The woman, was she injured?” He straightened and stared down at the waiter.

“Blimey, you’re … English.” The waiter’s beady eyes narrowed into tight slits. “I beg your pardon, sir. I mistook you for someone else.”

“Damn it, man, was she hurt?” There was only a stride between them now. “I demand you answer me at once.”

The waiter started. “No, no! Her gown was wet with what smelled like wine, but she didn’t appear injured in any way.”

Sebastian’s breath came easier now that his fear for her well-being had been extinguished. “I probably appeared a madman just now, eh?”

The waiter didn’t dare reply.

“You see, I saw a woman who seemed to be in great distress, and I wondered if she required assistance.”

The waiter’s expression flattened in apparent relief, and a slight chuckle escaped his lips. “Ah, I understand now. And I apologize, sir, for mistaking you for one of the brothers they spoke of. For it’s plain you ain’t a bleedin’ Scot like them.”

“The man
and
the woman—they were both Scots?” Yes, now that he thought about it, he almost remembered having the faintest impression of that when she fled the library. Now this bit of information interested him, and he stepped forward. His sudden movement seemed to startle the waiter.

The man’s little eyes went wide as an owl’s. “I-I do not know for certain, sir, but they talked a bit like a Scottish scullery gel I once knew … except, you know,
Quality.”

The two other men in the elm stand were Scots and certainly the brothers the waiter had overheard mentioned. “Did they happen to tell you their names?”

“No, sir. Why would they? As I informed you, the lady was not hurt.” The waiter’s growing discomfort and wariness was transparent even in the moonlight. “Again, sir, I apologize for my mistake.”

He had pressed his luck with this man long enough. Any additional questions might seem suspicious and draw unwanted attention to him. “My thanks for putting my mind at ease, good man. Good evening.” He flipped a coin to the waiter and hurried back in the direction of the Grand Walk, where his grandmother awaited.

So, he hadn’t yet met the lady, but tonight was a very productive evening, indeed.

Siusan sat in the dark parlor, waiting. Wax candles were dear, and it would be best to spare what tapers they had. She didn’t mind the darkness. It
never frightened her, as it had her sisters Ivy and Priscilla.

Besides which, she knew she wouldn’t be alone for long. She’d heard Priscilla call out to her when she ran from the supper boxes at Vauxhall Gardens. She would come, as would her brothers, to try to soothe her wounds, as they always did. During the few days bracketing the anniversary of Simon’s death, it was as if her skin was gossamer thin, and even the slightest pitying glance could tear through to her heart, where she held her memories of Simon, her beloved.

The sound of hoofbeats in the square drew her gaze out of the parlor’s front window to a hackney taking the corner at too fast a pace. The carriage slowed at the pavers before the house, as she knew it would. Priscilla. It had to be.

The hackney door swung open, and without waiting for the driver to pull his horses to a complete halt, Killian leaped out. He whirled just in time to catch Priscilla as she flung herself through the open cab door, and together they ran up the stairs to the house.

The front door slammed open, and a scatter of footfalls filled the entryway.

“Siusan! Siusan? Are you here?” Priscilla’s silhouette
appeared in the parlor doorway. “My God, Killian, what if she’s gone?”

“I haven’t,” Siusan said. From where she sat on the settee before the window, the moonlight outlined little more than her profile. They wouldn’t see that she wasn’t crying anymore. That the mask had come up again.

She heard tapers rolling inside the candlebox, then saw Killian cross to the hearth and grasp the tinderbox. She saw sparks as he struck the steel with the flint, then the blue glow of a brimstone-dipped match as he lit the candle Priscilla held out.

“We can spare a candle, Siusan.” Priscilla carried a table lamp and set it on the tea table before her. “There, much better now, is it not?”

Killian returned to stand before the parlor doorway. “We were concerned about you. You ought not have left the Gardens alone.”

Priscilla sank down on her knees before her. “I apologize for what I said, Su. I did not mean to hurt you.” She laid her cheek on Siusan’s lap. “I dinna know why I spoke to you with such daggered words, you, my sister, whom I love so dearly. It is as though during the past sennight, I have trod far out of my way to hurt you.”

Siusan stroked her sister’s hair. “Truly, do you not know?”

Priscilla lifted head. The moonlight touched her skull, transforming her hair into ebony silk, her skin into whitest porcelain. Her eyes were wide and glistening. She said nothing for several long moments, then collapsed into tears. Struggling to her feet, she backed into the center of the room.

Siusan started to rise, but Priscilla halted her with raised palm.

“Y-you know. You know, don’t you?” She trembled.

“That you were in love with Simon?” Siusan asked, more as a courtesy because she already knew the truth. “Aye, I knew you were smitten with him. We all did, Priscilla.”

If Siusan hadn’t had her eyes fixed on her sister, she might have missed Priscilla’s glance at her twin for confirmation of this assertion.

“You should despise me. Do you not see? Something inside of me wants to wound you as he hurt me when he chose you, Siusan the older bookish one, instead of me, the—”

“—the pretty one?” Siusan finished. “Priscilla, I do not despise you. Why, you were hardly more than a child when Simon offered for me. What you felt was childish infatuation.”

Priscilla bristled. “What I felt was far deeper than you know.”

Siusan sighed and slowly rose from the settee. “I daresay, you only believe that because you have never truly been in love. Had you, you would have known the difference.” She walked around the settee and leaned her forehead against the cool windowpane. She sighed. “Be grateful you did not love Simon with all of your heart … because the pain of being without him is nearly too much to bear.”

Killian crossed the room and settled his hand on Siusan’s shoulder. “Grant used nearly the same words to describe the heartache and loneliness you and the others felt when our mother died.”

Siusan turned her head to look at him. “The two of you were only newly born, so you wouldn’t have felt it, but, aye, losing someone you love is the greatest pain that you will ever experience. And sadly, no one escapes that fate.”

“Unless you never love anyone,” Priscilla said, her voice as chill as a tombstone.

Siusan slowly turned to peer out of the window into the moon-iced square. “Sad, isn’t it? The truth of your statement. But you are entirely correct—the only sure way to escape that pain … is never to love.”

Again.

T
he Lord Mayor’s annual dinner was, without question, the grandest event Sebastian had ever attended. It was held in Mansion House, the glittering residence of the Lord Mayor of London, Sir Matthew Wood, though Sebastian doubted even the Prince Regent’s accommodations could compare to such grandeur. If they could, he decided, then England had far greater difficulties than a mad king.

Sebastian’s grandmother had been right. Everyone of consequence seemed to be in attendance. Seated near the head of the first table, as he was, he would never find
her
in the crowd. Especially since he’d barely had a glimpse of the miss. No, unless his Enchantress of the Night wore a wine-stained blue gown to the dinner, his chances of finding her were slim at best.