Before The Scandal (11 page)

Gordon pulled an old tricorne low over his eyes and handed over the similar hat Phineas had uncovered in the attic. “Aye.”

They slipped down the back stairs and around the house to the stable. Once the horses were saddled, he swung up on Ajax. “Good lad,” he murmured, patting the stallion on the neck. “Let’s see how you run.” He jammed the ancient tricorne hat onto his head. Then, ducking as he passed through the stable doors, Gordon and Gallant on his heels, he kneed the big black.

They were off like the wind. This was more like it. With barely a tug on the reins they went pounding down the main road at a full gallop. Phineas leaned down along the black’s neck, barely catching his hat before it blew backward off his head.

He laughed, and Ajax’s ears flicked back at him. For a long moment he was tempted just to keep riding, to run until he’d put anything resembling trouble and a past far behind him.

“Bloody ’ell, Colonel, slow up a bit!” drifted up from well behind him.

He might be able to outrun trouble, but he had little doubt that Sergeant Thaddeus Gordon would sooner or later track him down. With a sigh he slowed to a trot.

“I always said you was hell on horseback, Colonel,” Gordon panted as he drew even. “And if that’s so, and I say it is, that horse there must be fire’n brimstone.”

Several vehicles passed by them as they waited in the shadows. Then another coach rounded the turn toward them, the yellow crest on its side showing faintly in the moonlight. Beaumont’s. “There it is,” he hissed, turning up the collar of his greatcoat and tying the mask across his eyes. “Remember, speak only French.”

“I never thought I’d die banded a Frog,” the sergeant muttered.

Phineas pulled his pistol from his pocket. Stories about The Gentleman were rampant locally, and had clearly been on Lord Anthony’s mind this morning. And a highwayman wouldn’t have to show restraint toward Quence’s neighbors.
Let the games begin.

“I apologize for the confined conditions,” Lord Anthony said easily, not giving back an inch of the space he’d taken over.

“Nonsense,” her aunt returned. “It was very generous of you to offer us a ride home.”

“And it was equally generous of you to offer your coach to Lord and Lady Bagston,” Lady Claudia, seated between Lord Donnelly and Lord Charles, said as she placed a hand on Richard’s knee. “I can’t imagine what might have befallen them if they’d allowed their coachman to drive them home.”

“The man was nearly too drunk to find the ground,” Lord Charles commented. “I imagine when he sobers up he’ll be quite annoyed to discover that he’s lost his employm—”

A shot rang out, thunderously loud in the quiet evening.

“Stand and deliver!”

Claudia shrieked. Richard might also have screamed, but with the crowded coach lurching and sliding to a halt and everyone bumping into one another, Alyse couldn’t be certain, because her own heart had stopped beating altogether. It
couldn’t
be the masked Frenchman, though. It couldn’t be.

“Sortez de la voiture!”
a deep voice shouted. “
Ouvrez la porte!
”

“Good God, it’s The Gentleman,” Lord Anthony gasped, paling. “I should never have mentioned his name.”

“Nonsense,” Lord Charles snapped. “Ghosts don’t have pistols.”

“What’s he yelling about?” Richard muttered, peering through the curtained window. “There are two of them.”

“Sortez vite!”

“Oh, dear, does anyone know what he wants?” Aunt Ernesta quavered.

“It’s French. I only speak Greek,” Anthony supplied.

It
was
the Frenchman. Despite being both mortified and frightened half out of her wits, Alyse had the abrupt urge to laugh. As high and mighty as her companions considered themselves, they couldn’t communicate with a French highwayman. “I think he wants us to get out,” she offered aloud.

“I am not about to step out there and get shot,” Richard hissed. “You do what you like, Alyse.”

The door wrenched open. “
Sortez!
”

This must have been the second fellow—his voice wasn’t as commanding as the first. As he motioned with his pistol, not even her French-impaired fellows could mistake his meaning.

One by one they squeezed out of the coach. Alyse looked up—and up—to see the first highwayman. He sat on that monstrous black horse, his greatcoat collar turned up again, the dashing, old-fashioned tricorne hat pulled down and a mask across his eyes so that she could only make out shadowy, glittering slits. There was no mistaking the straight, steady arm with the cocked pistol pointed at the coachman, though. It was the same fellow. And he knew what he was doing.

For a bare moment the shadowed eyes seemed to bore straight through her. Alyse shivered.

“Videz votres poches
.”

“Alyse, what’s he saying?” Lady Claudia whispered.

“Apologies, my good man,” Richard said in an overly loud voice, “but we don’t speak your language.”

She thought she heard a very quiet, very bad French curse. “Open your pockets,” he said, in heavily accented English. “
Vite.
Now. Quickly.”

“You’ll never get away with this, you brigand.” Lord Charles began pulling his snuffbox and pocket watch and handkerchief and an ivory-toothed comb from his pockets.

“Mon ami
, the saddlebag,” the Frenchman said.

The other fellow hurried up to him, and he handed down a worn leather pouch with his free hand. The beast stood motionless beneath him, apparently guided only by his rider’s heels. With the faint moonlight behind him, he looked…stunning. Legendary, even.

“Vite
,” the other fellow said, stopping in front of Lord Anthony and shaking the bag at him.

“You damned Frogs,” Richard snarled, dumping his pocket watch and a handful of coins into the bag when it stopped in front of him. “We’ll have the army down on you for this. I hope you fancy getting your necks stretched.”

The rider dismounted in one fluid motion, the pistol swiveling until it pointed squarely at Richard. Alyse held her breath as with long, booted strides, his coattails flapping out behind him, the highwayman closed the distance to her cousin. “How to protect the ladies when you are dead, monsieur?”

“Oh, heavens,” Aunt Ernesta gasped. “They mean to ravage us!”

The highwayman made a dismissive sound. “
You
are safe, madame.” He angled his face toward Lady Claudia. “Your necklace, mademoiselle. And the…
boucles d’oreille
.”

“The what?” Claudia asked shakily, unfastening her necklace and half-tossing it into the bag.

“Your earbobs,” Alyse translated.

The shadowed face turned to her again. “
Parlez vous français?
”

He didn’t intend to give away the fact that they’d already met. Thank goodness. “
Oui.
”

“Then I take your baubles, myself.” Pocketing the pistol, he took her hand in his gloved fingers, drawing her closer and then turning her to face away from him. His fingers at the nape of her neck made her shiver again.

“S’il vous plaît, monsieur
,” she said quietly, “
c’est de
ma mère. C’est precieux à moi.
” The pearl necklace was one of the few things of her mother’s she’d managed to keep.

“Then I shall keep it close to my heart,
ma chère
.” He turned her around again. Gently brushing her hair aside, he removed her matching earbobs one by one and pocketed them. “
Merci, mademoiselle.
” He took her hand, bowing to gently kiss her knuckles. Alyse swallowed hard.

“That is enough, sir.”

The pistol reappeared, this time aimed at Lord Anthony. “Turn your pockets. All of you.”

That produced various notes and coins and another two pounds from Richard, everything going into the bag. Finally the highwayman motioned, and his companion shouldered the bag and climbed up onto a sturdy bay. The Frenchman backed away until he reached his mount. In another graceful move he swung into the saddle, the pistol never wavering from its target.

He touched the brim of his hat in a mock salute. “
Merci
, ladies and gentlemen.
Bon soir.
” With that he nudged the black in the ribs and they vanished into the night, the bay pounding behind him.

“Oh, my,” Aunt Ernesta breathed, and fainted dead away.

“Th’ next time we rob a coach, could ye let me know in enough time so I can at least have a loaded pistol?” Gordon handed the spent one back over.

Phineas pocketed it, his fingers curling around Alyse’s pearl necklace as he did so. “You should have brought one,” he returned, pulling his gloves off with his teeth and then holding out his hand again for the saddlebag. With Ajax at a walk beneath him, he dug through the contents. They’d recovered three notes. One of them had to be the missive Lord Charles had stuffed into his coat.

“So are we rich beyond imaginin’, now?”

“What? Oh.” Pocketing the notes and tying down the flap, he tossed the bag back to the sergeant. “Spread the blunt about, and do what you want with the rest. Just be cautious about it,” he said.

“So this was all about those letters?”

“One of them. Hopefully.”

“Well, this’s been a fine evenin’, anyway. What of the pearls?”

“I’ll take care of those. Gordon, make certain Warner and the new boy Tom understand that we’re helping my family, and that Ajax is not to leave the stable during the day for any reason. He’s difficult to mistake.”

“Oh, aye.”

They rode in silence for a long moment, crossing the bridge back onto Quence property. Taking the long way around made sense, and Phineas hoped it was precaution enough.

“Colonel?”

“Yes?”

“Ye know I’d follow ye straight through th’ gates o’ hell itself, but what exactly did we accomplish?”

“I’m trying to find a vandal. As soon as I know more, I’ll tell you.” He paused, looking over at Gordon. “And thank you, Sergeant. You’re a good man.”

“Fer a French highwayman.”

“For anything.”

The Scotsman blushed. “Thank ye, sir.”

Once they’d returned to Quence he led Ajax into the stable himself, and gave the fellow an apple. When this was finished he’d have to send the black back to Sullivan or risk being discovered as a highwayman, but he hoped the escapade would be worth the loss of a very fine animal.

Digby seemed to have retired for the evening, so Phineas let himself into the house. He quietly climbed the stairs and closed himself into his bedchamber. Once he was assured of some privacy, he dumped the pair of pistols onto the bed, then pulled Alyse’s pearls from his pocket.

“Damnation,” he said quietly, studying them in the candlelight as they lay across his palm.

He’d wanted Smythe’s paper. If he’d had any idea before he stopped the coach that Alyse and the other Donnellys would be inside…He probably would have robbed it, anyway. It didn’t make sense to delude himself on that count, whether he wanted to be a kinder man than he was or not.

Once this was resolved he would see that her mother’s jewelry was returned to her. Until then, he would do as he’d promised and keep her things safe. Going to his trunk, he opened it and pressed the knot on the inside of the lid. A loosened panel slid aside, and he carefully slipped the pearls inside to rest beside his three medals for bravery and the letter of commendation he’d received from Wellington himself.

He closed it up again, and only then pulled from his pocket the three pieces of paper he’d liberated. Shrugging out of his greatcoat, he flung it over a chair and sank down in the opposite seat before the fire dying in the hearth. Settling in, he opened the first missive.

It was an invoice from the same tailor he’d used. Apparently Lord Anthony had expensive taste. With a frown he leaned forward and tossed it into the fireplace. He had no intention of hanging over a clothing bill.

The second missive was larger, and made of very thin rice paper. As he unfolded it, turning it this way and that, Phineas abruptly realized that the haphazard lines and dots on the paper were a map. Or rather, they were meant to be overlaid on a map. The question was, what map? And what would he see if and when he matched them together?

Setting it aside for the moment, he opened the third folded paper and snorted. Lord Donnelly fancied himself a poet. And apparently “Elizabeth” was meant to rhyme with “fine, turned earth,” for her eyes. Well, the viscount was going to have to begin this effort over again. It followed the invoice into the fire.

He examined the marked paper again. No words had been written on it, so he couldn’t tell whether he was looking at a single garden or an entire county. It was rural, but even that was more of a feeling than a logical conclusion. Several circles seemed to mark areas of importance, while one small
X
looked very piratical.

Well, he’d wanted a clue, and this certainly felt like one. A clue to what, though, he had no idea. Asking, especially after the way he’d acquired it, was out of the question. Ajax would have to stay on at Quence for a while longer.

He sat back, staring into the fire. He’d managed to abuse his friendship with Alyse and caused her to mistrust him, but he could still do something kind for her. Or rather, The Gentleman could.

Before he could regain his sense of logic, Phineas pulled his greatcoat and mask and hat back on, pocketed the pearls he’d hidden away, and crept back outside to the stables. Warner and young Tom had both turned in for the night, and he swiftly saddled Ajax himself.

Avoiding the main road in favor of the pastures, he made his way to Donnelly House. The windows were dark, so however upset Donnelly had been by the robbery, he appeared to be managing a night’s sleep. He remembered where Alyse’s bedchamber had been, and stopped Ajax beneath the small stand of trees to the west of the house to go the last few yards on foot.

Swiftly he climbed the trellis, leaned out, and pulled open the window with his fingertips. He’d never snuck into Donnelly House before, since in the past he’d always been welcomed there. Things had changed, and not just because he was currently disguised as a dead highwayman.

Putting one boot on the windowsill, he shifted his weight and then silently stepped inside. As he pushed through the closed curtains, it occurred to him that he didn’t know what to say to her. Over the past ten years he’d become accustomed to the idea of deception; it was a necessary part of war. But deceiving Alyse, especially when she’d been deceived by a man before—one who’d promised to marry her, yet—felt wrong.

And still he stood there, in her bedchamber, in the costume of a highwayman. Of course, after tonight he supposed that he
was
a highwayman. Leaving the curtains parted just enough to let in a sliver of moonlight, he moved silently closer to the bed. She stirred, turning onto her back—and let out an indelicate snore.

With a silent curse, Phineas backed away a step. Her damned aunt. Fighting the urge to cast up his accounts, he moved quickly and quietly to the door and slipped out to the hallway. Christ. That had fairly much frightened any thoughts of romance out of him.

If Alyse wasn’t in her old bedchamber, then where was she? As her aunt’s companion she was likely within easy earshot, but the rooms on either side of Mrs. Donnelly’s quarters were empty. Likewise the one across the hallway seemed to have become an auxiliary wardrobe of dowdy clothes.

He turned a slow circle in the dark. Now that he was here, he was damned well going to see her. Hm. Her governess had used to room on the third floor across from the storage attic. Taking a breath, he climbed the back stairs to the top floor of Donnelly House.

The door was latched, but the hinges were so loose that all he had to do was lift up on the door and push. She’d left the curtains in the small window open, and he could clearly see her curled up on the narrow bed. Phin clenched his jaw. The diamond of East Sussex, and her own family kept her locked up in the attic room. Well, not locked up, but expected to stay there.

For a long moment he simply gazed at her, at her hand curled beneath her cheek and her long chestnut hair half covering her face. Good God, she was lovely. Just looking at her left him feeling protective, possessive, and filled with longing for something that might have been. Perhaps still could be, if he didn’t get himself hanged or completely disowned by his family.

“Monsieur?”
she whispered, her dark eyes opening wide. She sat up, clutching her blankets to her chest.

He shook himself. How could he do this without lying to her? “
Je regrette
,” he apologized in a murmur, and withdrew the pearls from his pocket, holding them out to her. “
Pour un baisser.
”

She reached out, then pulled her hand back again. “You’ll give me back my pearls in exchange for a kiss? And that’s all you want?”

Phin nodded. “
Oui.
”

“A bit of honor from a
voleur de grand chemin
?” she whispered, her cheeks darkening.

“Un peu
,” he agreed. A very little bit of honor from a highwayman.

Alyse took a breath, then nodded. “Very well. For the pearls.”

His heart hammering, Phin sat on the edge of her bed. Gently he tilted up her chin with his gloved fingers, and touched his mouth to hers. They’d kissed before, but he’d never been able to take his time, to know the softness of her mouth, to feel the passion she held deep within her. He did so now, advancing, retreating, deepening the kiss until she moaned.

He wanted all of her. Whoever he was pretending to be at the moment, though, he’d given his word that he wouldn’t make more trouble for her. He was already treading a very narrow road. The old Phin, before he’d joined the army, wouldn’t have realized there was even a road to cross. He’d thought only of himself. Now all he could think of was Alyse.

Regretfully he pulled back, stroking his fingers along her cheek. “
Merci, mademoiselle
,” he murmured, turning her hand to place the pearls into her palm. “
Votre bassier est bien valoir son prix
.” Yes, her kiss had definitely been worth the price. And more.

He stood again, taking a rose from the bouquet beneath the window, and placed it across her lap. “
Merci
,” she whispered.

Phin nodded, opening her door to slip out back into the black hallway. “
De rien
.”

It wasn’t nothing, though. He doubted he would ever be the same again. And for tonight, at least, he welcomed the change.