A Bride Unveiled (27 page)

I
t was eleven o’clock at night. The patrons of the corner pub had gathered outside the fencing salon for a free performance. In the street behind them a more well-heeled audience enjoyed the show from the comfort of their carriages. It was always a treat to watch the maestro train his pupils. His friendly curses often rose over the clash of blades or thunder of footsteps on the stairs as he took out his stopwatch to time a run.

He felt anything but friendly when he recognized the sallow-faced gentleman pushing his way through the crowd at the door as if he owned the place. “God help me,” he muttered.

The Duke of Wynfield, a former pupil and an old friend, who had lost his father in the last year, and his wife three years before that, glanced around in amusement. “Ah, the haberdasher is here. He looks a little pale. I think he needs your shoulder to cry on, maestro.”

“Shut up,” Kit said with a reluctant laugh, turning back to the stairs as Godfrey stumbled like a sleepwalker into the chaos around him. What the blazes had happened to him now? He looked as if he’d ingested a fatal dose of poison.

“Watch where you’re going, Sir Godfrey!” a voice shouted at him. “I almost beheaded you.”

Godfrey reached Kit’s side, wiping his face with his handkerchief. “Master Fenton, I need a word in private.”

“Not now.”

“Yes, now.”

“Not—”

“It’s about Violet. I
must
talk to you alone.”

Kit stared at his stopwatch. “My dressing room. And this will be the last time; I swear it.” He glanced up at the tall figure who stood by the door, examining the tip of his fleuret. “Excuse us, Pierce.”

“By all means.” Pierce turned, opening the dressing room door and closing it with a decisive click the moment Godfrey followed Kit inside.

“What is it?”

“I have found out the truth about my fiancée.”

 

 

The Duke of Wynfield stared across the salon at the raven-haired man lounging against the dressing room door.

Their eyes met and clashed in silence. The duke made it clear by his look that he disliked Pierce. In fact, he stared at him until Pierce pushed off the door and sauntered past him, fleuret in hand.

“I think Sir Godfrey has cooked his own goose,” he said, as if he and Wynfield were in on a private joke.

“It isn’t our business.”

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t say a word to anyone but you. I know Fenton can trust you.”

“Yes.” Wynfield turned away. “With his life, if necessary.”

 

 

Kit stared at the dagger that lay on the dressing table behind Godfrey. Fake prop or not, he had never been as tempted to use a weapon in his entire life. “Why did you eavesdrop in the first place?” he asked in disgust.

Sir Godfrey pulled the half-dead nosegay out from the pocket of his coat. “Here. Take the foul things. They are a symbol of what I felt for her.”

“Your feelings have mended fast.”

“I am the injured party.”

“If you dig in any one spot deep enough, you are bound to find a skeleton. What possessed you to sneak into her house uninvited?”

Godfrey averted his gaze, and Kit knew that the next thing out of his mouth would be a lie. “I was worried when no one answered the door. Lady Ashfield has not been well, and Violet has neglected her for her charity work.”

“How shameful, Sir Godfrey. To criticize a lady with a caring heart.”

“But she
isn’t
a lady; that’s the point. And she didn’t care about breaking my heart with her deceit.”

“You said she was unaware herself of her past.”

“A fabricated past, indeed. Who would have dreamed that such a lovely face had been born of vice and not the virtue she pretended?”

Kit felt the fire of rage building inside him. “Who would have dreamed that you were a toad unworthy of her trust?”

Godfrey swallowed. “You don’t expect me to marry her now that I am aware of her disgraceful beginnings?”

“Croak, croak,”
Kit said softly. “I hope no one steps on you before you leave this room.”

“But . . .” Godfrey’s eyes bulged. “I can’t withdraw my suit without causing a stink.”

“And what,” Kit asked in a pitiless voice, “do you expect me to do? I have a suggestion.”

Godfrey blinked furiously. “Does it involve a sword?”

“Not if you prefer a pistol.”

“I came to you for sympathy, Fenton.”

Kit tossed the flowers into the dustbin. Had the baroness kept this secret from Violet, or was it even true? “The only sympathy I can offer,” he said, walking Godfrey to the door, “is to make your demise as quick and quiet as possible. To spare you the scandal, of course.”

Godfrey closed his eyes. “I half wish that you would. I wish that you and she—”

Kit froze. “Go on.”

“—would be spared any unnecessary scandal, also.” His breathing grew raspy. “Will you keep this a secret between us, Fenton?”

“Will I
what
?”

“I can’t afford for anyone to find out why I broke the engagement. It has to die a quiet death.”

“Why do you think you can trust me?”

“Because you are an honorable man, and I am a miserable coward.”

Kit smiled slowly. “Under one condition.”

“Anything,” Godfrey said, gray faced and flattened against the door.

Kit sighed. It was too tempting to forget that in the end only two things mattered—Violet and his honor. He couldn’t toy with Godfrey, as much as the cad deserved it. “I will keep your secret—”

“Bless you,” Godfrey breathed, clasping his hands under his chin.

“Unclasp your hands this instant.”

“Is that the condition?”

“The condition,” Kit said between his teeth, “is that you are never to mention Violet in a derogatory manner again. In fact, you are to forget that you ever knew each other. Don’t darken her doorway again. I will also find a way to kill you if you say one word against her.”

Godfrey nodded. “I knew you would understand.”

“I understand that you’re a fool.” Kit elbowed him aside to open the door. “Not a word to anyone. And, Godfrey—”

“Sir?”

“I’m canceling your subscription as of now. Without a refund.”

Godfrey shrank away as Kit reached out to open the door. He strode out into the salon, scowling at the sullen quiet that greeted his appearance. Every pair of eyes followed Godfrey’s undignified escape to the front door.

“Well?” Kit challenged. “Why are you all standing about like tin soldiers? Engage.”

“Fenton.”

He turned at the sound of Wynfield’s voice. “What is it?”

“How long have you known Pierce Carroll?” Wynfield asked as they met by the stairs.

“I’d say six or seven months at the most. Why? Where is he?”

Both men glanced around the salon, searching for the lightning-fast figure in the noisy mélange. “He’s gone,” Wynfield said.

“What of it?”

“I don’t like him. I mistrust his intentions around you. Did you know that he was French?”

“I may have heard him speak the language, but then so do I. The fencing terms are in French, and every serious student of the art has to learn them sooner or later, or—”

“His name isn’t Pierce Carroll. I think he’s hiding something from his past.”

“I’m not exactly proud of my origins, either.”

“But you overcame them.”

Kit shook his head in dismissal. “I’ve been a criminal. I’ve known more sinners than I can count. But for the grace of God and my father’s intervention, I would be in lockup. Who do you think Pierce is?”

“I saw the name de Soubise on a letter that fell from his jacket the last time we changed for practice. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it if he hadn’t snatched it up—”

“De Soubise. Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Kit was silent as he looked up to the sword mounted above the rack of foils on the wall. “My father,” he said finally, lowering his gaze in understanding, “had one bitter enemy: the Chevalier de Soubise, who had a son several years older than me. I should have known the day I saw Pierce throwing knives that he was not who he claimed to be.”

“Do you think he’ll be back?”

“Count on it,” Kit said with certainty.

“When?”

“When I least expect him.”

“What can I do to help you?” Wynfield asked.

“Watch over my woman if I am distracted. Take care of her when I do what I have to do. I will address any threat the chevalier’s son might pose once and for all.”

V
iolet had fallen asleep that night at the bottom of her aunt’s bed. She opened her eyes and saw her aunt bending over her, her face wreathed in a smile. “Wake up. We have to pick out your wardrobe for the house party. It isn’t too early to start.”

Violet stretched, feeling like a familiar weight inside her had been lifted, and . . . “Where did all those roses come from?” she demanded, gazing at the vases of long-stemmed blooms that occupied every surface imaginable and filled the room with the heady perfume of romance.

“It looks like a hothouse in here,” she marveled. “Who sent them to you? Not . . . not Godfrey? Oh, please, don’t say that he wants another chance.”

“It was not Godfrey,” her aunt said with a wry smile. “Your secret knight sent them. And, I have to admit, it is a favorable strategy on his part.”

“Was there a note?”

“Yes. He has asked to meet me at a house party.”

“And?”

“And we shall have to see.”

 

 

Despite the drama of her broken engagement, Violet looked forward to the house party. It would be the reunion that she and her friends had promised one another, even if Miss Higgins could be present only in spirit. Violet had written to her before leaving London and asked if they could take a proper tea together when she returned. But for now she looked forward to hours of dancing and of being with Kit, whose company she craved with a happy desperation that she no longer had to hide.

She searched for him amid the guests milling around the other gigs, carriages, and post chaises that crowded the driveway to the estate. She sought a glimpse of him in the couples drifting across the lawn to stroll down secluded avenues provided by the tall privet hedges.

Every so often another carriage rumbled through the wrought-iron gates. Footmen raced forth to attend new arrivals. A majordomo in a scarlet coat stood on the front steps between—Violet stared through the carriage at the gentleman in a top hat and the lady in turquoise silk standing at his side.

“Is he here?” Francesca inquired as the footmen opened the carriage door.

There was no point in pretending that she didn’t know whom her aunt was talking about. It felt wonderful to be able to finally share her fondest secret. “No. I think that’s Ambrose on the steps, though. The gentleman in the top hat. Kit wouldn’t be with the other guests. He hasn’t been formally invited to the party.” She subsided against the seat. “And perhaps this will be the last one I shall ever attend.”

Her aunt reached for her hand. “But you have friends like Mr. Tomkinson, who rode behind us from London. And if you are never invited to another party, it will not matter.”

“We will have our own parties,” Violet said, smiling at the thought.

“Yes. And I will dance with Twyford, if I can get out of my chair.”

Violet turned her head as a footman opened the carriage door.

She
was
willing to turn her back on the fashionable world to become part of Kit’s. Besides, if society learned the truth of her low origins, she would be judged, deemed unworthy, and instantly banished from it for the rest of her days.

“Where is Delphine?” her aunt asked as she stepped gingerly from the carriage.

“You gave her orders to make sure our rooms are closed off to drafts and drunken gentlemen who might wander about in the dark.”

“Ah. That was sensible of me. Shall we wait for Eldbert?”

“He’s parked a half mile behind us. Besides, I am dying to see what kind of man Ambrose has become.”

Ambrose stared at the man who had quietly walked past the receiving line that started on the steps. Unannounced as yet, unadorned, except for the sword that sat at his hip like a calling card, he attracted the notice of more guests at the party than the host and hostess.

At last he looked up at Ambrose, who was half tempted to greet him. He saw recognition in Kit’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure he saw any respect. Hadn’t the man learned any manners after all these years? Who did he think had paid him to perform at the party?

Was it proper for a viscount to acknowledge a fencing master? His guests seemed to think so. Was this the right moment for a public greeting? Suddenly Ambrose hadn’t a clue whether he wanted to pay Kit back for the old taunts or thank him for lessons learned.