The Devil to Pay (33 page)

Sir Alasdair and Lady Kirton were beaming; she with pleasure, he with amusement. Sidonie looked at Aleric. “Did you know he was going to do that?” she demanded.

Aleric grinned sheepishly. “I did not realize he would make it quite so public.”

“Saved you the trouble, then, didn’t he?” remarked Sir Alasdair. “Now you won’t have to make an ass of yourself.”

Sidonie turned to him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Alasdair looked back and forth between them. “Dev, did I misunderstand? Didn’t you say something just before the ball about seizing the bull by the horns, and surprising Sidonie with a betrothal announcement so that she would have no choice but to—”

“Alasdair,” Devellyn coldly interjected, “for once could you just shut up?”

Alasdair shrugged cheerfully. “I do tend to babble on dreadfully, do I not?” he agreed. “One never knows what next I might say. By the way, Dev, your mother and I were chatting earlier about that Vespasian denarius. Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell her? Something about your reason for coming here tonight?”

Devellyn shoved back his chair. “Yes,” he gritted. “Yes, by God, there was. I’m going to tell her, Alasdair, to give you that bloody Roman coin once and for all. And then to strike you
permanently
off our guest list.”

Sidonie came awake to sensation of light and shadow shifting above her eyes. She opened them and sat up in some surprise. Lifting one hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she pushed away her book and sat halfway up to see that their rowboat had drifted far from the cottage again, leaving Thomas behind to lounge lazily on the distant shore. They were floating now in the rushes on the opposite bank. The willow trees along the water were stirring in the breeze, casting fluttering sunlight across the boat’s length.

Sidonie sat up, marked her page, and set aside the book. Well, not a book, really, but instead, one of her mother’s many diaries. Somehow, they were less painful to read now, and bit by bit, Sidonie was at last beginning to understand Claire Bauchet: a woman who had been neither good nor bad, but simply human. She was very glad now that Julia had not thrown the books away.

Relaxing in the bow opposite Sidonie, her husband reclined against a rolled blanket. He wore nothing but his trousers and shirt, with his sleeves rolled up to reveal a fine pair of forearms. The sun dappled his dark hair attractively, but Aleric did not notice her besotted gaze, for he was thoroughly absorbed in his reading.

With an inward smile, Sidonie moved to the center seat, grasped an oar, and gave a little push against the soft mud of the lakebed. Startled into awareness, Aleric looked up, his dark hair tossing lightly in the wind. “Oh,” he said. “Drifted out again, have we?”

“Some captain you are,” she grumbled good-naturedly. “Now I must push us into the sun again.”

“Yes, well, that’s the first mate’s job,” muttered her husband. “And your nose is going to sunburn.”

Sidonie stroked both oars deep and watched her husband read as the boat slid back into the lake’s languid current. He smiled up at her again, and her heart soared with sudden joy. It was an overwhelming rush of emotion, and it came upon her more and more frequently now.

They had been here at Stoneleigh for all of six weeks, ever since their return from a month’s honeymoon in Italy. Here, in the blissful peace of Kent, they had loved, laughed, and begun to build the foundation of a perfect marriage. The cottage Aleric’s parents had offered them was charming and private. Private enough for passionate midnight swims and romantic picnics along the shore.

Aleric’s mother was ecstatic to have them so near. Gravenel was trying hard to be a father again, and Aleric, she realized, was almost at peace with the world. But one dark shadow yet lingered, and it troubled him, she knew, though he rarely spoke of it. The shadow of the Black Angel. Oh, nothing could be proven now. And Aleric could almost certainly protect her. Still, with so much in their lives finally going right, he worried that something might go wrong.

This afternoon, however, he was being strangely silent. She ceased her rowing and settled back onto her pile of pillows to study him. The boat rocked soothingly on the water, almost lulling her back to sleep.

“What are you reading, love?” she asked, stretching drowsily in the sun. “Is that the letter which arrived from Alasdair this morning?”

Aleric looked up and winked at her. “Yes, and chockfull of town gossip, too.”

Something mischievous in his tone made her sit upright again. “Such as?”

Aleric consulted his letter. “Such as the fact that your old friend Lord Bodley has fled to the Continent with what few valuables he could lay hands on,” he answered. “It seems he’d become totally insolvent, and his debtors were pressing him into court.”

“A life of penury on the Continent is still better than he deserves.”

“Patience, my love,” he murmured, unfolding something from the letter. “In time, men like Bodley always do themselves in.”

Sidonie looked at him curiously. “What’s that you’re unfolding?”

Aleric had begun to laugh. “Alasdair has sent the front page of Wednesday’s
Times,”
he answered. “There was something in it, he said, which he wished me to see.”

“What?” Sidonie moved toward the bow, causing the boat to rock precariously.

Aleric looked at her with humor in his eyes. “Some sailor you are, Sid,” he said. “Sit down before you drown us.”

Forcing herself to be patient, Sidonie sat and folded her skirts around her knees. She watched, mesmerized, as her husband’s expression began to shift from one of mild amusement to something which looked like apoplexy. Or agony. Or outright spleen-splitting hilarity. Sidonie was not sure.

“My love,” she finally said, rising onto her knees, “what is it? What is wrong?”

“Prepare yourself, my dear,” said her husband solemnly. “I fear I have bad news.”

“What? What sort of bad news?”

“The Black Angel,” he said. “I fear she has met an untimely end.”

“Aleric, you are speaking nonsense,” said Sidonie.

A spurt of something like laughter escaped him. “Nonetheless, my dear, she is dead,” he managed. “Caught in the act, and shot dead as four o’clock.”

Sidonie looked at him in some astonishment. “That cannot be! Who has perpetrated such a hoax?”

“Spoken by an expert,” interjected her husband dryly. “You know all there is to know of hoaxes, do you not, my love?”

Sidonie tried to snatch the newspaper, but Devellyn lifted it high above his head. “What were the circumstances?” she demanded as the boat rocked perilously. “Who claimed to be the victim?”

He consulted his newspaper again. “That infamous rakehell, Sir Alasdair MacLachlan was the Angel’s mark,” he said. “And it happened at—yes, let me see here—in a box at the Drury Lane Theatre, according to the police sergeant, one Mr. Mortimer Sisk. Isn’t he a friend of your brother’s?”

“Sisk!” Sidonie said indignantly. “That dog! I shall throttle him with his ugliest cravat!”

Devellyn looked at her in mock sympathy. “It seems the Black Angel had lured the lust-lorn Sir Alasdair into an empty box for a tête-à-tête after the play,” he went on. “Alas, when she tried to strip him of his possessions, she discovered Alasdair was armed—with something more than his usual wit and charm. It must have been frightfully exciting. The Black Angel tried to wrestle the gun from his hand and accidentally shot herself.”

“That’s—why, that’s utter nonsense!”

“There were witnesses,” warned her husband.

“Witnesses?”

“Indeed, several,” answered Aleric. “Two fledging actresses, Ilsa and Inga Karlsson, were still hanging about backstage. And that paragon of virtue, Lady Kirton, had dozed off in her adjoining box. The ruckus roused her, and she saw the whole thing.”

“Lady Kirton?”
said Sidonie. “But—but this is incomprehensible!”

“Not to me, my dear!” said her husband. “Indeed, it looks to me as if the Angel has had the curtain dropped on her existence in order to avoid any suspicions—or encores—upon our return to London.”

“Julia!” Sidonie’s eyes flew wide. “She was a part of this!”

“Indeed,” murmured her husband, returning his gaze to the letter. “Alasdair says she made a lovely corpse.”

“Ooh, I shall throttle her.”

“Hmm,” said her husband. “With one of Sisk’s ugly cravats?”

Sidonie fell back into the boat and burst into laughter. “Ah, well, my career as a criminal was over, wasn’t it, Devellyn? At least the Black Angel went down in dramatic fashion.”

She stared up at the cerulean sky and listened as her husband cast his papers aside. He came creeping over the seats on hands and knees, and dragged himself on top of her. “Sidonie, my love,” he said, then he kissed her long and deep. “Sidonie, the only role I need you to play now is that of my lover, and my friend.”

“Oh, that sounds a little dull, Devellyn,” she said, making a pout with her lips. “Still, those
are
my personal favorites.”

He shrugged, and a grin broke out across his face. “Well, if ever I get out of hand, Sid, I suppose you could put on your red wig, tie me up, and play Ruby Black for a night or two?”

“If ever—?”
Sidonie laughed. “Oh, I fear Ruby is going to be a busy girl.”

His expression turned serious, and he brushed his lips over her forehead. “Now, have I told you, my love, how proud I am of you?” he asked. “You are braver and truer than anyone I have ever known. You can’t save everyone, it is true. But you have, most assuredly, saved me.”

She kissed him back, and stared into his eyes. “Aleric,” she said. “Row us ashore, my dear.”

He drew back, and looked at her with curiosity in his gaze. “Methinks she has another nefarious plan,” he murmured.

She pushed him up, rocking the boat again. “Yes, for I have one role yet to play, my love,” she murmured. “One which you failed to list. Now, up with you, sluggard! You, too, have a duty here.”

He grinned at her across the distance. “Have I indeed?” he said. “I wonder what!”

“I think you can guess,” she said, setting a bare hand on his thigh, and easing it slowly upward.

“I am not sure,” he said, eyes fixed on her fingers. “I think my brain just disengaged.”

Sidonie looked up at him through her fan of dark lashes. “You have promised your father that there is one more thing you’ll accomplish before he dies,” she murmured. “I am just suggesting, my love, that it’s time to set to work in earnest.”

With that, her husband seized the oars. “Well, heave ho, Sid!” he said, drawing them back with a mighty force. “Let it never be said that the Devil of Duke Street is the sort of man who shirks his duty!”