Confessions of a Little Black Gown (24 page)

Add to that, his dark hair—now brushed back and tamed in an unfashionable queue—and those deep, mysterious eyes of his were enough to make any woman take a second, longer gaze at him. To fantasize about what it would be like to untie the cord wound around his hair and unleash the beast within this restless man.

Tally didn’t need to imagine what it was like—she’d discovered that pleasure all last night and found herself aching for another such evening…and one more after that.

She nearly tumbled again and this time caught the railing before she made a lovely entrance into the ball by falling down the stairs into a tangled heap.

“Tally, are you well?” Pippin whispered.

She tore her gaze away from the aggravating
man—who was now grinning at her, the nerve of that bastard—and glanced over at her cousin. “Yes, Pippin. I am well.”

Tally almost felt guilty over her own conundrum when she knew what this night meant to Pippin. And here was her cousin worried about her! How like Pippin.

“Try to smile,” she whispered over to her. “It might put some color in your cheeks. You’ve become dreadfully pale of late.”

“I can’t help it,” Pippin said, her lips making a halfhearted effort to turn upward.

Tally’s gaze strayed down the stairs again—honestly she hadn’t meant to, but she just couldn’t help herself.

And there he was staring up at her with that wolfish hungry gaze. Her heel grabbed into the next step and she wavered perilously.

“Are you are certain you are well?”

Tally straightened. “Couldn’t be better,” she lied.

“Lord Larken looks much improved,” Pippin pointed out.

She sniffed and didn’t look in his direction. She had some self-control in that regard. “Don’t you mean Mr. Ryder?”

Pippin slanted a glance at her. “I for one prefer him as a baron, don’t you?”

“I do not.” After another step, she changed the subject. “What of Lord Gossett? I think he is quite the handsomest man here tonight, don’t you?”

Now it was Pippin’s turn to stumble a bit. “He almost makes me wish…”

Tally came to a stop. “Wish what?”

“That I’d met him first,” Pippin confessed. “Then all of you wouldn’t be taking these risks for me.” This took Tally aback and Pippin seeing her shock rushed to explain. “Don’t get me wrong, Dash is my heart, my love, but this afternoon, in the garden…well, for a moment, I found myself wondering what it would have been like to have met Lord Gossett first.”

Tally knew that dilemma.

“Oh, he’s everything I ought to love, rich and handsome, and very charming.” Pippin sighed, then looked over at Tally. “But he’s not a pirate.”

Tally laughed. “I daresay he’d take up the profession to win your heart.”

Pippin smiled. “Don’t suggest it, for I fear he would. And I don’t like using him as a distraction to keep Felicity out of our way. He’s too good of a man to be used thusly.”

“I don’t think he minds,” Tally told her, as the viscount came forward to meet them.

“Lady Philippa,” Lord Gossett said, bowing and then reaching out to take her hand. “May I escort you in?”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, falling in alongside with him and leaving Larken and Tally alone together.

Why hadn’t he left? Tally thought she had made her lie convincingly enough to have him believe that Dashwell was gone and that there was no need for him to stay, but obviously the man hadn’t believed her.

How utterly ungentlemanly, she mused, feeling only a little bit of pique. Because it also meant that
for another few hours, she’d have to keep him from discovering the truth.

It didn’t help that the moment he took her hand, the heat of his fingers rushed through her gloves, and her insides melted with desire.

Taking a steadying breath, Tally tried to think of some way of deceiving herself into believing that she didn’t care a whit for him.

She could do that. She could lie to herself. Then she glanced up into his passion-filled gaze and knew this night was destined to be a long and dangerous charade, for she didn’t believe herself anymore than he did her.

L
arken watched Tally come down the stairs and felt an unfamiliar stir—oh, there was the more familiar rise in his loins, but the one in his heart was like nothing he’d ever known.

Demmit. However could this woman look more beautiful than she had in his arms last night? But seeing her as she stumbled her way down the stairs, blushing with each misstep, he had to restrain himself from rushing forward to help her.

Help your enemy
, that wry voice reminded him.

And as much as he wanted to spend the evening shooing off the inevitable horde of admirers about to swamp the duchess’s sister, he needed to ensure that she was well out of his way so he could finish his task.

Certainly she’d told him that his services here were no longer needed, hinting broadly that Dashwell was already far from Hollindrake House, but
he didn’t believe her. Oh, yes, he’d been distracted last night, but the guards and footmen posted to keep a strict, albeit discreet, eye out for the pirate had all been at their posts and none of them had seen anything untoward.

Other than the one who’d spied Mr. Hartwell smuggling in some old bawd. “No ’arm in that, eh, gov’ner?” the footman had said with a wink and a nudge.

No, Larken agreed. No harm in that, not when it meant that Dashwell was still here, and tonight, if his instincts were correct, the American would make his move in all the chaos and confusion.

And to finish his work, Larken needed Tally distracted. He would have liked to have continued in the same manner she had him, taking her up to his bed and spending another night in her arms, but that scenario was fraught with peril.

To his heart.

No, better to see her well engaged all night, so he could slip away. And to that end he’d already set his own plans in motion.

“Miss Langley,” he murmured, bowing over her fingers as he took her hand.

He swore she shivered as their fingers entwined, which meant…

Nothing
, he told himself, as he steered her into the ballroom.

“You needn’t hold my hand, sir,” she whispered to him, even as they passed their host and hostess. “I know the way to the ballroom.”

“Ah, but I insist,” he told her. “After your kind consideration of my interests over the past few days, it is
the least I can do. Besides, I have a surprise for you.”

She slanted a suspicious glance up at him as they entered the crush of the ballroom. Larken pulled to a stop, Tally teetering to a halt as well.

“Here it is,” he told her, nodding to a spot just past her shoulder.

She turned and he wished her back wasn’t to him so he could see the surprise and fury in her eyes.

For there ready to take her hand was Lord Norridge. And behind him, four other gentlemen and heirs ready for their turn to charm the lovely Miss Langley.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I knew you were a bit anxious about the evening, what with the dancing and all, so I have taken the liberty of filling your card with five of the most cowhanded partners available.”

She whirled around, and he thought he was going to have to add pugilist to her list of skills, for her hand was balled into a tight fist.

“No need to thank me, Miss Langley. It was the least I could do for you.”

“But…but…” she sputtered as he handed her off to Lord Norridge and the man led her (well, more to the point, dragged her) out to the dance floor, utterly oblivious to his pretty partner’s reluctance.

Larken left the ballroom, ready to be finished with this assignment. Nothing would stop him now, and he’d be gone from this madness before the hired orchestra struck their last note.

The last note. He faltered for a moment, shocked to find himself wishing that he could be there to hear
its last echoing refrain, and in his arms would be a fair-haired miss, with stars in her eyes and kisses full of passion even as she apologized for how she’d spent the night trampling his toes.

No, instead, the last note would find him far from here. With blood on his hands, and her undying hatred at his deed.

But there was no choice in the matter. Dashwell had to die, and Larken would never have the sort of ordinary existence that fools like Norridge and the rest of them took for granted.

“Mayhap,” he muttered under his breath as he climbed the stairs, “I’m the fool.”

Larken’s hand closed over the latch of the door and he took a deep breath as he glanced down at the pistol in his other hand. He had no doubt that Lady Philippa and Tally had been hiding Dashwell in their suite of rooms, and now, with everyone preoccupied with the ball, was his chance to finish this mission.

Yet he paused. Captain Dashwell. Privateer. Spy. Scourge to England’s merchants and Navy.

Dashwell wouldn’t hesitate to kill you
, a wry voice nudged him.
Besides, it isn’t as if that man hasn’t made enemies clear across the Atlantic and then some…

Demmit, it was like having Pymm whispering in his ear.

Yet even as he put his shoulder to the door, something stayed him. A voice. Pure and sincere.

How is killing an unarmed man honorable? He wouldn’t kill you if you were defenseless…
He could almost see
her standing before him, hands fisted to her hips.
’Tis murder, plain and simple.

It was. But this was also war. And he had a duty to mind the king’s business. No matter where that took his soul.

So Larken shoved the door open and barreled into the suite, pistol drawn and blotting out any last bit of interfering, whispering conscience.

The hallway had been dark, as was the room, but for a few candles on a table, and the soft glow of coals in the fireplace.

In a wide, comfortable chair beside the grate sat an old woman knitting. And beside her, in a basket, slept Brutus.

“Sssh,” she murmured, not even looking up from her work. “I’ll not be responsible for your boots if you wake that infernal dog.” Her fingers paused, red wool wound around them, and she glanced up at him, her apple cheeks pink beneath her white lace cap. “Ah, I thought I might meet you this evening. Come for him, have you?”

Aunt Minty. So she was real. He was starting to think she was nothing more than a mirage to hide Dashwell behind.

“Well, don’t stand there with the door open, I can’t abide drafts,” she complained. “Been cold since the winter—such a terrible winter, wasn’t it? Snow like I can’t ever remember. And the river all frozen. It’s as if it froze my blood, it did, and it’s yet to thaw.”

Quite honestly he was a bit taken aback by both this quiet domestic scene, as well as her complete nonchalance over his blustering arrival, but that
only stopped him for a moment, and he walked past her and went to work searching the rooms that connected to this main parlor.

“You’ll not find him here. He’s been gone for some time,” she called after him.

He came back to the parlor and watched for a moment as she knit along, her fingers moving with a steady, almost hypnotic motion. “I don’t believe you.”

She shrugged as if she had better things to do than argue with him. Then she tipped her head and studied him. “Glad you did show up. Got some business to discuss with you.”

“With me?”

The knitting fell to her lap. “Well, I wouldn’t be discussing it with that beastie, now would I?” she said with a nod toward Brutus.

“I haven’t time for idle chatter,” he said, turning to leave.

“And what is it you’re going to do?”

“Find him,” he said over his shoulder, his hand on the latch.

“Harrumph.” The needles clicked anew. “Not about him. But about my Tally-girl.”

That stopped him. Tally. His head hung and he shook it. “That’s difficult. Impossible.”

Another “harrumph” told him her opinion of his reply.

Yes, he supposed it wasn’t much of an answer. But he wasn’t about to start discussing his heart, his desires with a former pickpocket, no matter that she looked like someone’s beloved, trusted grandmother.

“I don’t have time—” he began, opening the door.

“If you care to listen, I’ve been sitting here pondering something that I think you could answer.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Now she was just stalling. “Madam, if you think to stop me, I—”

She rushed to cut him off. “Because how is it that you found Tally-girl’s boot out in the gardens when there’s been no sign of her trunk since it went missing? Puzzling, don’t you think?”

“Yes, yes, the boot,” he said, taking a glance at the trunk tucked in the corner of the room with that solitary boot atop it.

The one Brutus had wrestled from the person who’d been lurking around the maze. And here he’d been convinced it was Dashwell that night. Had assumed it was him.

“A lady, I have to imagine was wearing it before that mutt stole it from her.”

A lady?
A chill ran down Larken’s spine.

Meanwhile, as her knitting pins clicked and chatted away, so did Aunt Minty. “But what sort of lady would be nosing about in the dark of night, wearing Tally-girl’s boots, I ask you? I’ve been sitting here waiting for you and a thinkin’ on just that notion.”

He shrugged, though he couldn’t shake loose the niggle of suspicion that her question planted, taken root. What sort of lady, indeed?

Then again, he knew damn well what sort lurked about in the shadows.

And apparently, so did Aunt Minty. “Now, I ask you, why didn’t this bit of muslin just bring the gel’s trunk to the front door, as nice as you please, and
ask for her own back? Have you thought of that, my lord?”

Again he shook his head, but he also closed the door and leaned against it, listening to her theory as a dark cloud began to settle overhead.

“Heard talk of such women when I lived in the Dials,” she told him. “You know about that, now don’t you?” He nodded and she continued. “Well, I lived in the Dials a good part of me life and saw a fair amount of things that weren’t meant to be seen. Saw strangers pass through those streets, for it’s a place where no one is likely to ask too many questions. Not in the Dials. Not if’n you have the gold to silence ’em, that is.”

He pushed off the door and walked over to the trunk, picking up the boot and studying it as he listened to her.

“Occasionally there would be a lady come through. Oh, you knew she was a lady, as much as she would try to hide the fact. French, those ones. Can’t hide that. They were a dangerous lot. Could slip in and cut a man’s throat and be gone better than your best riverside badger.” She paused and looked him directly in the eyes. “Ever heard of ’em?”

He glanced over at her. “A badger, or one of your mysterious ladies?”

She grinned. “I can see why my Tally-girl is in love with you. You’re a bit of a tease, now, aren’t you?”

Larken had stopped listening after she’d said those fateful words.

“…my Tally-girl is in love with you…”

“Is she? Truly?” he asked.

Aunt Minty slowly rewound the wool around her fingers and began knitting again. “So you are listening to me.”

“Every word,” he told her, frozen in place.

“Aye. She loves you. Fell in love with you the first moment she clapped eyes on you. Knew you were naught but a Covent Garden pater-cove.”

He laughed. He’d thought he’d done a better job of impersonating Hollindrake’s cousin than that. But as much as he saw the humor in the situation, marveled at Tally’s keen instincts, he couldn’t laugh for long. “I fear her regard isn’t all that well placed.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” she shot back. “But you’ll come to your senses right soon, I wager. Once you catch that Frog filching, murdering mort who’s got me Tally-girl’s trunk. She’s the one who’s a danger to us all, as long as she’s a sneakin’ about and waiting like a cat on the ledge to pounce.”

“You think one of these French ladies is after—”

“Didn’t say what she’s after, just said she’s around, mark me words.”

He went along with her theory, purely for the sport of it, at least that was what he tried to tell himself. And yet there were too many odd pieces tumbling together one after another—his dreams last night of Aurora, Tally’s drawing from the inn, the stray boot and the stranger in the maze.

But it still didn’t explain why a member of
L’Ordre du Lis Noir
would be here…

That whispering voice returned, echoing what it had been nattering on about earlier.

“…it isn’t as if that man hasn’t made enemies clear across the Atlantic and then some…”

Dashwell.
The Order was after Dashwell. Just as he was. For it was highly likely, given Dash’s penchant for gold, that he’d been aiding both sides for years. Lining his pockets with gold and to his detriment, learning too much…The Order, with their primary objective of complete secrecy, probably had even more reason for wanting Dash to disappear…permanently.