Blood for Ink (The Scarlet Plumiere Series #1) (25 page)

She flagged John down without a sound. He leaned toward her.

“What is it, my lady?”

“Shhh! Ashmoore snuck me out here so I could board without being seen. Lord Northwick is going to meet me, away from the house, so no one will suspect we are together.”

“He what?”

“Lord Northwick and I would like a private conversation. Head for Drury Lane and hurry. I’ll let you know when to stop.”

She opened the carriage and jumped inside. Thank heavens the lamps were not lit. Once she was seated, she held her breath, waiting for the carriage to move, but it did not. Her stomach dropped. Threatening John would do her no good at all. And she doubted the big man would let her tie him up.

Never in her life had her father’s house seemed more like a prison than at that moment.

The carriage began to move. She was so surprised, she squeaked. And she did not trust it, so she peeked through the curtains to be sure John was not standing by the drive having been unseated by Lord Northwick. But she saw nothing.

Perhaps it had taken John a moment to accept his disappointment in her.

Livvy would like to think she was incredibly clever to have escaped the house, but she was not. She had not had the time to be clever. After all her deception, it was very likely that Lord Gordon would no longer be at Merrill’s. She would almost certainly be locked away for her own good once she was caught by Ashmoore, so she would do what she could with the night she had claimed for herself. And she would be forced to make her decisions as she went.

Her fabricated story had been plucked from a wish, that was all. She had not thought of it until after she had her maid tied up and was heading out her bedroom door. How could she not have realized sooner that leaving the house might be as difficult as getting in?

Directing John to Drury Lane had been a little stroke of luck. Of course she did not have the names of many roads on the tip of her tongue these days, so she hadn’t many alternatives, but there were numerous entertainments along the road, even at that hour. And though she was interested in none of them, there would surely be hacks for the hiring. If John was not willing to go along with that plan again, she hoped the road might be so clustered with carriages, her own would be forced to stop a time or two. And if she was very lucky, she could exit the conveyance without John knowing.

Unfortunately, Drury Lane at midnight was not nearly as busy as she’d hoped. The carriage clipped along at an easy speed and she suddenly panicked at the prospect of running out of road before she’d gotten away. There was nothing for it but to stop the carriage herself.

She knocked on the wall.

The carriage slowed and pulled to the side of the road. Suddenly her heart was in her throat, much as it would have been if she really had been off to have a private meeting with Northwick.

John handed her out. It was easy to act excited. She looked off to the right and saw exactly what she needed.

“Northwick waved, then got into that hack. I must hurry.” She jumped from John’s reach and started backing away. John looked very much as if he was going to follow. “Go, John! You must get the carriage away before it is recognized. He will see me home safely. Keep our secret, John!”

She turned and walked briskly and confidently toward the hack on the other side of the street, praying no one would hire the thing before she reached it, praying John would not clutch her billowing cloak from behind. If John noticed her standing alone in the street, waiting for another hack, he’d hunt her down. The man looked enraged already—likely at Northwick for arranging such a thing.

Well, damn the earl for not arranging such a thing.

She reached for the hack door and glanced up. Her hood fell back.

“‘Ere now. What do think...pardon me, miss. I thought you was someones else—I mean to say—”

“Take me to Merrill’s.”

“Aw, now, what would a lady—”

“Can you take me to Merrill’s or shall I find someone who can?”

“Yes, Miss.”

She opened the door and climbed inside as quickly as her skirts would allow. She dared not look to see if John had moved on. If he were behind her, her heart might stop. She only hoped the hack was out of sight before he could turn the larger carriage about and follow. With the big man’s tendency to be overprotective of her, she could imagine him bellowing through Merrill’s like a mad bull if he could not catch her before she arrived.

She turned from that unpleasant thought to another—what she planned to do with the sword and pistol if Gordon was still at Merrill’s.

With no solid plan in hand, North suggested they all find their beds. Surely, after the first attack, there would be no further disruptions that night. Of course, they were taking no chances. They had agreed that someone should sleep in Livvy’s room that night, but since he didn’t like the idea of another man being in there, he had been reduced to volunteering for the duty himself. It would drive him mad, of course, so he decided a bracing bit of cold air might clear his mind before he entered the torture chamber.

Ian sat next to a window by the front door.

“I will be outside for a few moments if you would care to stretch your legs.” He stepped outside and shut the door, but it did not remain so. Ian stepped outside as well.

“Back so soon, my lord?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Ivy and Stone Inn is half way across London. I only wonder how Everhardt found you so quickly, my lord.”

“The Ivy and Stone Inn?” North wondered if he was so weary he’d forgotten something.

Suddenly a coach and team turned off the street and into the drive. It was Telford’s big driver, John. Who might have sent him on an errand at this time of night?

The man pulled roughly on the leads and the horses complained, but stopped. He jumped to the ground without the carriage completely secure, and the look on his face made North take a step back.

The big man raised a finger. “You! You ain’t supposed to be here!” And without slowing, the man ploughed a fist into his jaw.

When he opened his eyes against the pain in his face and shoulder, North found himself propped on the couch in the drawing room. He flinched when he realized the big man stood on the opposite side of the room, his anger barely restrained, with no one close at hand to stop the man from felling him again.

At least he’d blacked out the old-fashioned way.

“You aren’t supposed to be here!” The big man’s voice boomed through the room.

“That was just what I was about to say when you rode in, John.” Ian’s face suddenly appeared before him. “My apologies, my lord. Ashmoore and the rest will be here in a trice.”

Ashmoore pushed Ian out of the way. “What has happened?”

The driver pointed at North again. “He is not supposed to be here! He’s supposed to be with Miss Reynolds. And if he’s not with Miss Reynolds, then who is, I’d like to know!”

North struggled to stand. “Damn her! Where is she?”

“Last I saw her, she was getting into a hack on Drury Lane. A hack that you were supposed to be sitting in. She said she was meeting you...for a private word.” He sneered at North as if he’d actually been guilty.

“Obviously, it was not me she was meeting, my friend. Could you cease trying to murder me for a moment at least?”

The big man seemed to consider it, then nodded.

“She told me the same.” Ian chimed in. “I told her she could not go without Lord Ashmoore’s approval, and she told me to go to The Ivy and Stone to tell you the bad news, my lord. I sent Everhardt.”

It finally sank into his aching head that Livvy was out in the city somewhere, in the dead of night, unprotected.

“Who the devil would she be meeting?” Stanley stood against the wall near the door.

His jealous mind raced, but no name came to mind. She’d just left behind all the men she had recently met, and there were no gentlemen in her past—

“Gordon.” The name fell from his lips without him thinking it. “Who else could it be? Surely Lady Malbury would not have expected her to leave our protection to meet with some poor chit who did not like the way her new fiancé kissed her glove.” He could not keep the sneer from his own voice now. “And let us not forget who we are dealing with here. It is certainly not poor sweet Olivia Reynolds. Oh, no. We are dealing with The Scarlet Plumiere, the woman willing to take on the most powerful men in the British Empire, single-handedly. This phantom has never known danger until I brought it to her door. She has no need of us. It is Gordon needing protection now.”

“North. That’s enough.” Ashmoore sat and put his head in his hands. “If she went looking for Gordon, she had a reason.”

“One that would only sound reasonable to a woman.” He forced himself to sit calmly, instead of flying out into the night as his body seemed inclined to do.

“Do you know what you are doing, North?” Stanley straightened away from the wall. “You’re making her the villain, so she cannot hurt you anymore.”

“I beg your pardon!” A slap across the face would not have surprised him more.

Stanley advanced while he spoke. “I doubt you will pardon yourself, if you do not charge out that door and go after her.”

North closed his eyes. “She was not in the room when you told Gordon’s whereabouts.” He tried to remember past the pain in his jaw. “But her maid was!”

“She has gone to Merrill’s, my lords!” Hopkins panted in the doorway. “She tied her maid to a chair and took a pistol and her father’s cane.”

North threw his hands in the air. “Well, Ashmoore, you had best go collect her. Provide her with transportation home at least, after the doorman disarms her.”

“I cannot go. Harcourt, you see if you can diffuse the situation. Take Milton with you.” Ash turned to the butler. “Did the maid say what color she is wearing?”

“Scarlet, my lord. That new red dress and her mother’s red cloak. Scarlet from head to toe.”

North’s head exploded. “Idiot! The city believes The Scarlet Plumiere is dead and instead of taking advantage and letting her enemies think they have won, she has to rub their noses in it!” Then his brain caught up with his ears. “What do you mean you are not going, Ash?”

“Peter may die tonight. I will not leave him to die alone when there are others who can find Livvy.” And with that, Ash quit the room.

That damned red dress. He could keep the other images from nesting in his mind, but that red dress was already there, setting up housekeeping, waiting for the right time to torment him.

A moment later, he climbed in the carriage after Milton.

“You are coming?” Harcourt grinned.

“I go only to make certain she has that damned dress well and truly covered.” Or so he told himself.

Livvy’s stomach turned when the hack stopped, but she swallowed hard and refused to cast up her accounts—not that there was anything in her stomach to begin with. The driver asked if she wanted him to wait, then laughed when she shook her head. She tossed the rude man’s coins on the ground and turned away. By the time she reached the top of the steps, she’d managed to put her embarrassment to good use.

“I’m sorry, my lady. This here’s a gentlemen’s club. You want me to whistle for your hack to return?”

“Of course not. You permit mistresses in Merrill’s, do you not?”

“Yeah, but you ain’t no mistress, my lady. You look like someone’s wife. No wives allowed.”

“I’m no man’s wife. Lord Gordon sent for me. Do you really wish to anger Lord Gordon?”

“Ain’t no Lord Gordon ‘ere, miss.”

“Then go ask the man who looks most like Lord Gordon why he summoned me here if he did not intend to have me admitted?”

She parted her cloak to place her hands on her hips, but it also served to display her low neckline. If Lord Northwick’s reaction hadn’t been enough to tell her the dress was inappropriate, this doorman’s reaction did. She had to squeeze her own hips to keep from letting her hands fly up to hide her cleavage from the disgusting oaf.

“Let’s just see what the man has to say.” He turned and opened the door. Dear heavens, she was about to be caught in one of her lies. After all she had told that night, she should not have been surprised. But the consequences of lying here might be a bit more dire than those at home.

Walking into the foyer of Merrill’s was like stepping onto a smoky island. Through the white fog, she saw bodies, mostly women, sprawled across settees lining both sides of the hallway. A dark shadow moved beside one woman and she realized that there may well be many men here as well, but as they were dressed mostly in black, they were harder to see.

A newel post appeared and she had the sudden urge to run up the steps to get out of the fog. As it was, she tried not to breathe too deeply, lest she be affected by the odd taste in the air.

The rear of the foyer opened up into a large room filled with tables for gaming. In turn, the tables were filled with men who eagerly stretched forward to rake chips toward them, or tossed their cards about, hardly paying heed to the chips on the table in favor of the women perched on their laps, or the laps of their neighbors.

She had read once about a villain who preferred to keep his back to the wall, to prevent others from sneaking up behind him and doing him harm. Or perhaps she had read it about the Earl of Ashmoore. She could not remember. But she had expected the oaf to lead her to the rear wall where such a villain might hide. She was therefore surprised when he stopped in the center of the room where the loudest card game seemed to be taking place.

And there he was.

He was larger than she remembered. Having Northwick and his friends about had created a sense that no other men could measure up to them. But as far as measurements alone, Lord Gordon looked as intimidating as ever. When she first met him, she’d been awed. After overhearing his plans for her, she’d been sickened. But all those feelings had faded a little with time. And all those feelings came flooding back at the mere sound of his voice. That voice she had heard in the garden, at her own engagement party.

She had been told her fiancé was outside chatting with friends. She’d gone to find him, but failed. On her way back to the house, she passed a trellised gazebo and recognized his voice. Not wanting to interrupt a man who so intimadated, she’d waited for a break in the conversation.

The first man’s words confused her.

“How will you get an heir off her, darling?”

“Oh, I will have my heir and a spare from the little monster. But I think you will have to do the deed, my pet. You have always been able to lie with a woman. I will have to watch, of course. My heir, my bed, you see? And you will stay on, of course. My heirs will need to look alike.”

She’d gasped then, giving herself away. When Gordon stepped out of the gazebo, straightening his clothes, he’d frowned until he saw who it was who had overheard his conversation. Then he’d laughed and shooed her toward the house, as if she had not the significance to cause him concern.

“Well, if it is not The Little Monster!”

“She says you summoned her, my lord.” The oaf held his hands at the ready to lay hold of her if given leave to do so.

“She did? Of course she did.” He jerked his head to indicate the oaf should go away.

The man nodded and turned, but not before taking a second look at her chest. She was thankful she had recovered herself.

There were no women sitting on laps at Gordon’s table. Neither were there faces she recognized. Or so she thought until a blond man scooped up his chips and excused himself. His face was a little familiar, but she did not know the name. The fact that he walked with a cane and a terrible limp was no help, though he obviously recognized her.

Gordon laughed at him as he hobbled away, then turned back to her. His nose curled at one corner and erased any remnant of his handsomeness. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Reynolds?”

She would need to be much closer if she was going to do the deed she’d come to do, so she poked at him the only way she knew how.

“You tell me, Gordon. You summoned me, remember? And what do you mean threatening my father like that?”

She could feel, more than see, ears straining in her direction. If anything happened to her or her father, at least Gordon would be suspected.

He laughed. “Surely you do not mean to slander me the moment I am back in town, young lady.”

“Slander? I do not understand. Are you trying to lure me into some sort of trap here tonight? I will admit that I was surprised to hear you were back in town, but when I got your message...”

He stood abruptly and she took a breath to cover her panic.

“I worried you wanted to reconsider our engagement. But of course I cannot. After the scandal last time, I was sure you would have no interest—”

“Here, now. What is all this? I sent you no message, Miss Reynolds.” Gordon came ‘round the table to stand before her. She resisted the urge to step back, reminding herself she was The Scarlet Plumiere—the only thing the man feared.

And there must have been many eyes on them if he was suddenly treating her so formally.

“Oh, you sent me a very clear message, my lord.” She took a breath for courage, then stepped close and lowered her voice. “Killing Ursula was just another of your many mistakes. Hurting my people was your last.” She’d been careful. No one could have heard.

“I had nothing to do with the whore’s death, but I see you two must have been fast friends,” he sneered. “After all, you look as if she has been making your clothing selections.”

Livvy looked down. As soon as she’d put her hands on her hips again, the cloak had parted, so she immediately dropped them to her sides. Her left wrist reminded her of the cane hidden in the folds. With her knee, she felt for the reassuring weight of the dueling pistol hanging in the right pocket of her dress.

Not yet. The time is not yet right.

“
You want me to believe you didn’t kill Ursula?”

“I don’t care what you believe. I thought I made that perfectly clear at our engagement party.”

She refused to allow the shame and horror of that night control her reactions now.

She laughed. And laughed. The longer she laughed, the louder and more maniacal she sounded. When she finally stopped, she’d put some distance between them.

“Surely you do not mean to threaten me here, my lord, in front of all these people. I certainly did not share your secret with anyone. I am insulted that you would think me so cruel. But then I wonder how many others you might have insulted since your return. Am I safe, even standing near you, if there are men waiting around every corner to answer those insults?” He advanced on her, his jaw flexing. She circled the table, clutched at the shoulders of those men still seated. They seemed to cringe from her touch as she imagined Gordon would. “Please, gentlemen. Be careful. Protect yourselves.”

“You say they need to protect themselves from me? If that is not slander I do not know what is!”

“No, my lord. They should protect themselves from your enemies. I dare not stay. Having my name linked with yours again will doom me.”

And with that, she hurried from the room, putting as many tables as possible between them as she wended her way back to the foyer. Then she paused, looked Gordon in the eye...and blew him a kiss. The man should have been sufficiently enraged by now. And no matter what happened hereafter, he would remember that for tonight, she had played the tune for his dancing.

Once again, she plunged into the smoke-filled corridor. But now it was more crowded. If Gordon followed her, he could find her in this smoke and wring her neck without the people nearest her being able to identify her killer, even if they were so inclined.

She pushed on a shoulder, trying to part the pair in her path. When she tried to slip between them, she was caught by their entwined hands.

“Hey now!”

“Excuse me. Please. Let me through,” she urged, trying not to raise her voice. Finally, she shoved the woman into the man and escaped around her right side. Someone clutched at her cloak and held, then laughed and let go. Others took up the game, eager to torment her by slowing her progress.

She was suddenly surrounded by dark shadows. Not a woman in the lot that she might push aside in order to escape. They plucked at her cloak, turned her in a circle. She reached inside the pocket and pulled the sword from the cane. Allowing herself to be turned, she held out the foot long blade as she went, feeling it slice cloth and something else. Something warm splashed on her hand. The sound of air sucked through teeth. Cursing.

The hands dropped away. Her cloak was nearly freed. The smoke swirled ahead from the opening of the door. She moved toward it.

A hand grabbed the back of her neck and held. Her shoulders shot up to hold the fingers in place. With her left hand, she fumbled at the clasp at her throat. When she relaxed her shoulders, the cloak fell away. The fingers lost their grip. She ran at the oaf, who did not see her coming, then slammed her body hard against his side. The doorway was clear, then filled with the face of a disfigured man. She stifled a scream and moved smoothly around him. With her eyes stinging from the smoke, she was lucky she could see the steps before her. She commanded her feet to move, her skirts to stay out of the way.

And then she was on the sidewalk. The air was clear. There was room to run if she needed it. Men were staring. They stopped to watch her pass. She slowed. Her heart beat too loud for her to discern if someone followed, so she forced herself to look over her shoulder. No one. A dozen black figures were headed for Merrill’s front door, not in her direction.

Dear heavens, what now?

The winter air lay upon her exposed skin like heavy ice, but she welcomed the shock; it served to clear the smoke lingering in her head. She’d lost the cloak, and with it, the cane and her mother’s reticule. Looking down, she realized she still held the sword. Blood dripped from the tip and onto her dress, disappearing in the dark red folds.
No wonder they had stared.

No cloak. No money. A hack driver would demand payment first, considering the way she was dressed. If she could only borrow a carriage!

She searched the markings on the parked conveyances as she passed. The Count Germaine’s decidedly French crest was clear. The next, a coat of arms she recognized as the one that might have become her own—Gordon’s!

She glanced up at the driver, but there was no one there. Was he standing with the horses to keep warm? Waiting inside the coach for a summons?
Only one way to find out
.

There was no one left on the sidewalk. The crowd in front of Merrill’s had forgotten her. She spun around once more. Her sword caught on her skirt. Depending on what might happen inside that carriage, it would likely be unwise to have her father’s blade left behind.

She went back to Count Germaine’s horses. His driver was fast asleep, huddled in a mass of blankets. He took no notice when she bent down and slid the sword onto the tree that ran between the animals. It was flat and the perfect width upon which to rest the handle which was carved in the shape of a horse’s head,
Telford
was engraved along the mane.

Later, when the weapon fell from the wood, it would hopefully be far away from Gordon’s carriage. No one would have a reason to suspect her father.

Sorry, Papa
. But she’d already lost the cane.

She walked back to Gordon’s carriage. Still no sign of the driver.

She opened the door and tried not to think of the fact that she may not make it out of the carriage alive. But hopefully, neither would Gordon.