Before The Scandal (26 page)

Richard snapped upright from the correspondence he’d been bent over. “What have you heard?”

“Peter Adams came by in his hay cart this morning, and he said that The Frenchman rode through Lewes last night, tossing coins onto the street. I know Lord Charles said he killed him, but Peter Jones swears it was him. Says he gave out near fifty quid.”

“And did no one attempt to stop this coin-throwing highwayman?” Richard asked, scowling and clearly furious.

“There was a handful of soldiers in town on leave, but they couldn’t catch that black monster he rides. They say it breathes fire and that The Frenchman’s eyes glow red in the dark.”

“That is nonsense. Get back to work. Saunders, give the boy a shilling for his troubles.”

The groom grinned. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Do you hear that?” Aunt Ernesta squawked. “That awful man is trying to turn himself into some sort of Robin Hood.”

“It won’t last, Mother. He’s breaking the law, and he will be stopped.”

Alyse noted that he said “stopped” rather than “arrested.” None of the men had said anything directly, and she supposed they might very well think her stupid enough not to have realized, but she knew precisely what they meant to do to The Frenchman the moment they had the opportunity. They would kill him. Phin. Tonight.

She’d carefully hidden away her twenty-five hundred pounds in a place that Richard would never think to look. After all, she’d grown up in this house, and she hadn’t told him everything about it. He’d promised her another seventy-five hundred pounds, but that prospect was beginning to look less and less promising. Two days ago he’d only had a relatively small amount of ready blunt to hand. And he hadn’t gone to see any bankers or accountants since then, even though he meant to make full use tonight of the information she’d given him.

At the moment, his apparent willingness to cheat her actually made her feel a bit better. He wasn’t a hero, trying to stop a villain. He was a villain, willing to do whatever was necessary to get what he wanted. And lying to his own cousin, who depended on him for food and clothing and shelter, didn’t even cause him to blink.

“Do we dare go to Roesglen tonight?” her aunt continued with a shudder. “I have no wish to be stopped and robbed again.”

“We are going tonight. Never fear; I mean to take precautions.”

“I certainly hope so.” She looked over at Alyse. “And I suppose you are going riding about the countryside again, showing off your borrowed clothes?”

“Alyse will be staying in today,” her cousin answered, returning to his paperwork.

Of course she would be; Richard had barely let her out of his sight since the library. He wouldn’t want to risk her warning Phin that a trap was being set for him. She turned the page of the book she’d deliberately chosen to read in her aunt’s presence. Her aunt hated the sight of young women reading. It took every bit of self-control she possessed to keep from smiling. Because Richard’s trap wasn’t going to go as he expected. Not at all.

The only frustration was that she didn’t know precisely what Phin did have planned. She understood why he hadn’t wanted to tell her, but she also had a large suspicion that it would involve him risking his life yet again. And with the way she was beginning to feel about their…partnership, she supposed it was, the only thing worse than him returning to the war would be him dying.

Both the sun and every clock in the house seemed determined to crawl forward as slowly as possible. As the day progressed, Alyse for once wouldn’t have minded having some mending to do; at least it would keep her hands occupied. Her mind flitted about like a hummingbird, refusing to light on any one subject.

Finally the sky began to darken and she could justify going upstairs to change into her evening gown. Then she had to sit through dinner and listen to her aunt lamenting their chances of remaining alive long enough for them to reach Roesglen. The woman was a small-minded tyrant, but at least she didn’t seem to know anything of her son’s dealings. It wasn’t quite enough to make Alyse look on her kindly, but it did save her aunt from having ill wishes sent in her direction every few minutes.

“You look very fine this evening,” Richard commented as he handed her into his carriage. “Green becomes you.”

“Thank you.”

He tugged on her hand, keeping her from stepping up. “If you say anything to him that looks the least bit suspicious, Alyse, you will regret it.”

“What would I say to him, Richard? That I agreed to take ten thousand pounds if he would kindly hand himself over to the authorities?”

“I don’t know what you would say. But I do know that you didn’t pin up your hair for me. You’ve already chosen the money, my dear. And he is a very poor risk.”

She pulled her hand free. “I told you what I know, Richard. Please don’t threaten me again.”

As they turned up the long drive twenty minutes later, every window at Roesglen seemed ablaze with light. Apparently the marquis’ embarrassment at the hands of The Frenchman wasn’t enough to keep him from throwing his doors wide open for his neighbors. Or perhaps he’d been so extravagant because he wanted his fellows to think of his ballroom rather than his misdeeds.

Alyse looked swiftly about for the Quence carriage, but she couldn’t distinguish it amid the crush of vehicles crowding the top of the drive. “Heavens,” Aunt Ernesta said, clutching on to her arm, “every member of the nobility in all of East Sussex must be here tonight.”

“Lord Roesglen’s parties are famous,” she supplied. “He seems to outdo himself every subsequent year.”

“And it’s been several years since you’ve attended, hasn’t it?” her cousin noted, as they joined the crush waiting to get through the front doorway.

He knew quite well that it had been over four years. “Yes,” she returned. “So I have no idea what to expect.”

“Expect a dance with me,” Richard said, smiling as he handed their invitation over to the expressionless butler. “And I imagine Charles and Anthony will wish a turn or two about the floor with you, as well. You do look very nice this evening.”

Was that part of their plan, to keep her surrounded by his cronies so that she had no chance to see Phin, much less dance with him? That might be the wiser course of action for her to take, but her heart said otherwise. Her heart wanted a waltz with Phin.

And then there he was, chatting with some of the other guests. For a second her breath caught. She’d half expected him to walk into Roesglen’s ballroom dressed as The Frenchman, sporting his old-fashioned tricorne hat and brandishing pistols. Instead he wore a dark gray jacket and black breeches, with a cream-colored waistcoat and his polished black Hessian boots. He looked…magnificent. And from the glances he received from the other ladies in the room, both single and married, it was clear she wasn’t the only one to think so.

His gaze roamed the room as he spoke, and then those hazel eyes found her. Warmth spiraled through her as he immediately excused himself and crossed the room to her side. “Alyse,” he said with a smile, taking her hand and brushing her knuckles with his lips, “you teach the torches to burn bright.”

“Ah, we’re stealing from Shakespeare now, are we?” Richard said coolly, offering his hand.

Phin shrugged as he shook hands. “The man’s dead. I don’t think he minds.”

Goodness.
Alyse felt as though she were watching a duel right there in the middle of the ballroom. Next they would draw daggers or rapiers or something. “Did you come with William and Beth?” she asked, deliberately stepping between the two men.

Taking a quick breath, Phin smiled. “I did. Once you grant me a waltz, I’ll take you over to see them.”

“I—”

“I’m afraid the two waltzes are spoken for,” Richard broke in. “They belong to myself and Lord Anthony.”

“Well, this is a dilemma. A country dance or a quadrille, Alyse? Or perhaps a cotillion.”

She smiled. “A country dance, I think. If you promise not to trounce on my feet.”

“I make no promises I can’t keep.” He drew her hand over his arm. “My brother and sister are this way.”

As soon as they set off through the crowd, Richard and Aunt Ernesta in tow, Alyse leaned a little toward Phin. “I don’t know what they’re planning, but it’s—”

“No need to apologize for the waltz,” he interrupted. “I’m certain I can find a partner or two with whom to amuse myself.”

He sounded so…callous that for a bare moment she felt taken aback. When he glanced down at her, though, she saw nothing but affection and secrets in his gaze. Secrets for her. Alyse squared her shoulders. Very well. She’d said she would trust him, and so she would.

“If you get killed,” she whispered, as he released her hand, “I am going to be very angry with you.”

Phin squeezed her fingers for a heartbeat. “So will I be.”

The main benefit of everyone’s increased caution was that it had become more difficult for anyone to unleash killer dogs or break open floodgates. That was something, but he didn’t want a mere delay in the attacks. He intended to put a stop to them.

The Frenchman had helped him figure out Lord Donnelly’s game, and now The Frenchman would, he hoped, serve to rattle all the players once more—and ideally in the process would gain him the missing pieces of information he still needed. He wrote his name beside the dance of Alyse’s choice on her dance card, and then excused himself. The farther he stayed from her tonight, the better. And besides, he wanted to keep an eye on Smythe and Ellerby.

Before he could retreat more than a few feet, however, Beth caught his arm. “You are going to dance with me this evening, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I thought you were angry with me.”

“I am. I was. But I still wish to dance with you.”

Grinning, he swooped an arm around her shoulders. “Does this have anything to do with my visiting friends?” he whispered.

She blushed. “Perhaps. I would have liked it more if they’d been able to attend tonight.”

“Not while Bram’s in hiding. And remember, not a word to anyone.”

“Of course not.”

“Then give me a waltz,” he said, deliberately choosing the second one of the evening. Richard had taken the first one with Alyse, which left the viscount unable to waltz with Beth. And that suited Beth’s brother quite well.

“B…He,” she amended, “wouldn’t say how long they mean to stay.”

“I suppose that depends on his father. Levonzy’s a bit notorious with that temper of his.” He stopped, the older brother in him warring against the soldier. “Beth, you know that Bram isn’t the best company for you to be keeping.”

“Oh, I know. And I know that I’m too young for his taste.” She smiled coyly. “I do like to see him so skittish, however. It’s a great deal of fun.”

He relaxed a little. Thank God Beth had some sense. And even if Bram was a mere distraction from Richard, that was precisely what she needed. “Good. Terrorize him all you like. Just don’t give him your heart.”

“I would never be that foolish, Phin.” She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “I like it when you forget that you’re supposed to be bad,” she murmured. “I only wish you would tell me why you’re doing this.”

So much for fooling the infant. “I’ll tell you when I can.”

“You’d better.”

He needn’t have worried about keeping Donnelly’s cronies in sight; they trailed about after him all evening. If this was the extent of their skills at subterfuge, he’d overestimated them. Then again, perhaps they weren’t attempting to be subtle. He supposed they could be hoping to shake him, to cause him to make some mistake. Blurt out his identity, perhaps. He stifled a grin as he gestured for a glass of port. He didn’t have to drink; he only needed to look as though he were overindulging.

Phineas spent the soiree dancing with women whom he’d once found fascinating, but whose names he now barely remembered. Even if the world knew he was in pursuit of Alyse he still wouldn’t have been able to claim more than a pair of dances with her, but he wanted them all. All with her.

Approaching early to claim her for their country dance, Phineas had to content himself with glaring at the rotund young man twirling about her for the remainder of the preceding quadrille. Once the dance ended, he moved forward. “Shall we?”

“Beg pardon, but we ain’t even left the dance floor yet,” the balding fellow drawled.

Phin wasn’t in the mood. “Who are you?” he asked.

The man blushed. “Henning. Francis Henning.”

“Phin Bromley,” Phineas returned. “And now that we’re acquainted, you may step away from Miss Donnelly.”

“Phin,” Alyse chastised, tugging her fingers free from Henning’s and placing them into his.

He shook himself. Simply because he was primed for a coming battle didn’t mean he could attack everyone in sight. He nodded. “Apologies, Henning. Good evening.”

“Ah. Good evening.”

The country dance was torture. Donnelly, Smythe, and Ellerby all took the floor when he did, so any conversation, even banter, with Alyse verged on being impossible. Fingers touched and slid away again, when all he wanted was to sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. All he could do was keep repeating to himself that an evening’s frustration was a small price to pay for setting everything right again. As soon as the dance was over he snatched up a glass of whiskey.

“Phin, is this truly necessary?” William asked, as Andrews rolled the chair up to him.

“Yes, it’s necessary. Now go away. You’re angry with me, remember?”

“Don’t you dare take additional chances in order to protect me. It’s my job to protect you.”

As absurd as that should have sounded coming from a man denied the use of his own legs, coming from William it had both strength and dignity. “I won’t risk anything unnecessarily,” Phineas said. “But for God’s sake distance yourself from me tonight. Yell at me for drinking. Something.”

William scowled. “Bah,” he summoned, and Andrews turned the chair back into the crowd.

Well, not as fine as the performances he’d viewed on the stage, but it would do for this evening. It would have been simpler if he could talk to Alyse and determine how much of an act he needed to put on, but he could manage it on his own. In truth, his reasons for wanting to talk to Alyse had little to do with her cousin or with Quence.

It was selfish and shortsighted, but he wanted just to be around her. To talk with her, to listen to the sound of her voice, to touch her soft skin. And then he spotted her making her way toward one of the privacy alcoves off the main room.

Swiftly he turned in the opposite direction, dodged through a doorway, and ducked out of sight of Donnelly’s associates. They might be proficient at shooting pheasants, but they knew nothing about hunting a trained soldier.

“Alyse,” he murmured, catching her arm as she left the alcove.

She pulled him back through the curtains with her. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “We already danced. And I thought you wanted to stay away fr—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, and captured her mouth with his. He kissed her, then retreated, relishing in the way she pursued him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling her slim body hard against his.

His cock ached. God, he wanted to peel her out of that silky green gown and run his hands along her skin, bury himself in her again.

“I want you,” he murmured, tilting her head back to run his mouth along her throat. “No more country dances. Only waltzes.”

“Phin. Phin, stop it,” she whispered huskily, still clutching her fingers into his shoulders. “If Richard finds us, he’ll shoot you right here.”

He didn’t particularly care, but clearly she did. With a last rough kiss he broke away from her. “I know you would be safer if I kept my distance,” he murmured, running a finger along her lips, “but I can’t.”

“Maybe staying away would have been safer when this first began,” she returned, “but at the moment I much prefer being where I am.”

“Thank you for that.”

She touched his cheek, then with a sigh twisted out of his arms and reached for the curtain. “I made Richard pay me for giving him the information. He gave me twenty-five hundred pounds, and I don’t think he intends to hand over any more than that.”

“I want you out of that house tonight,” he returned. “If he’s willing to murder me, I won’t risk what he might do to you.”

“He wouldn’t dare. He has an excuse for trying to stop The Frenchman. I would be much more difficult to explain.”

Phineas sighed. “You are a very brave woman, Alyse.”

“I’m not the one they are going to be shooting at.”

He looked at her, just looked at her, for a long moment. “Let’s get this damned thing over with,” he muttered. “Offer to see William and Beth home, will you?”

Alyse nodded. The way he’d gazed at her—she couldn’t even gather herself enough to speak. Silently Phin kissed her fingers and then slipped away again. She stayed where she was, concentrating on breathing and trying to cool the heat in her cheeks. And then she went to find Richard.

Phin was already there, standing not quite steadily and facing his seated brother. “I told you,” he said to William in an overloud voice, “I have a head.”

“Then go home,” William snapped.

“I came here with you,” Phin said, sneering.

The difference between the man who’d just been kissing her and the one who stood there now was remarkable. And thank goodness she knew it to be a ploy. “I’m certain we could see William and Beth home later,” she suggested. “Couldn’t we, Richard?”

Her cousin pasted a smile on his face. “Yes, happily.”

Phin made a show of hesitating, looking from his brother to her cousin. Then he nodded. “Stuffed shirts,” he muttered, then left the room, clumsily dodging the other guests as he went.

Immediately after he left, Lord Charles and Lord Anthony appeared on either side of Richard. Whatever they were discussing, they didn’t look pleased about the developments. As she looked on, trying to appear confused and finding it rather easy, William checked his watch several times. After approximately ten minutes had passed, the viscount motioned to his valet and approached the trio of men.

“I apologize,” he said, keeping his voice low, “but I hesitate to send my brother back to Quence without one of us there to…keep an eye on him. I hate to ask such a favor of you, Richard, but—”

“Say no more,” her cousin interrupted. “Of course we’ll see you home. Charles, Anthony, will you ride with us? I have no desire to meet up with The Frenchman tonight.”

Lord Charles and Lord Anthony had both ridden to the ball on horseback. That worried her; she hoped Phin had anticipated that possibility. The Frenchman rode that monstrous black horse, but even he couldn’t outrun an attack from three different directions. And he’d departed the soiree in a coach.

As their coach rumbled down the road, she looked through the curtains at the dark outside. In the dim light of the coach lantern she could make out Lord Charles a few yards to their left. As she watched, he pulled a pistol from his pocket to hold across his thigh. If they had the chance, they would never capture Phin for the authorities. They would kill him. Tonight. Now.

“Stand and deliver!”

On the echo of that shout, a single shot rang out. Alyse had to work not to clench her hands over her heart.
Please let him be well
, she prayed silently to herself.
Please let this go as he intends
.

“Oh, good heavens!” Aunt Ernesta squawked, grabbing at Richard’s arm. “I knew we should have stayed at home tonight!”

“Hush, Mother.” He pulled a pistol, and then a second one, out from behind the seat cushions.

“Is that necessary?” William asked. “I don’t want to risk Beth getting hurt in a skirmish.”

Lord Anthony yanked the coach door open, making Alyse jump. “It’s not us,” he barked.

“What?”

“He’s stopped another coach just around the curve, the fool. Come on, and we’ll have him surrounded before he realizes it.”

Richard stood. “Wait here,” he ordered the rest of the coach’s occupants, and hopped to the ground.

Alyse stared at William. This was not what she had anticipated. Beth clung to her brother’s arm, her eyes wide, and Aunt Ernesta continued to bemoan her fate from the far corner. And she was supposed to sit there as well, hands folded, while three men attempted to kill Phin.

She couldn’t do it. Alyse lurched to her feet and scrambled out the door before William could do more than try to grab her arm. “Alyse, wait here,” he muttered.

“I can’t. I’ll be careful.”

The sound of angry shouting drew her forward, her heart beating so hard she began to worry that she would faint dead away on the road. As she rounded the bend, she stopped in her tracks.

Phin stood there, his fists raised, circling…The Frenchman? Blinking, wondering if she had fainted after all and was dreaming, Alyse gaped.

How long she would have stood there, dazed, she didn’t know. At that moment she caught the glint of a pistol muzzle through the underbrush, and she rushed forward. “Richard!” she hissed, grabbing his arm. “Don’t you dare! You’ll hit Phin.”

He shoved her away with his elbow. “What are they saying?” he demanded.

Both men were speaking French. The highwayman’s partner still sat on horseback, his pistol aimed at the Quence coach’s driver but his gaze on the sparring men.

“Alyse,” her cousin muttered tightly.

She blinked. “Phin is ordering The Frenchman to surrender himself.”

“And what’s the answer?”

Alyse listened. It was something about Phin dancing in a pink dress. Her lips twitched. Whatever was transpiring, it seemed to be part of a plan. “He says that he’ll never surrender,” she improvised.