Debra Mullins (12 page)

“I
do not understand his hesitation,” Henrietta Rosewood said as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet. “Lord Haverford is an honorable man. Why does he not satisfy his family obligation and speak to your father?”

Already dressed for their outing, Anna gathered up the books she needed to return to the lending library. “I don’t know, Mama.”

“You’ve been all that is amiable, Anna. Anyone can see you are the perfect wife for him.” Henrietta emphasized her words with grand gestures, and one waving hand nearly hit the footman in the nose as he went to open the front door for the two of them. She didn’t even notice the near miss as she paraded down the stairs to their carriage.

“Perhaps he feels the need for a certain amount of courtship,” Anna offered, hurrying after her parent.

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Rosewood clambered into the carriage with a loud creaking of springs. “There is no uncertainty here. He knows what must be done.”

Anna handed her books to a footman to be stowed, then climbed into the carriage herself. “I don’t know why he hasn’t made an offer, Mama,” she said bluntly. “He does not confide in me.”

“Men never volunteer information, daughter. This is the first thing you must learn as a wife.” Henrietta pondered the subject as the footmen shut the carriage door and the driver set the horses in motion. “A woman must learn a man’s thoughts by observation and assumption.”

“Lord Haverford has always behaved quite correctly in my presence, so I can only assume that he is a gentleman,” Anna said, with a grin.

“Indeed?” her mother asked slyly. “He seemed very attentive at the theater on Thursday.”

Warmth swept her cheeks. “Mama, that was four days ago.”

“Nonetheless, it is rather encouraging,” Henrietta said with a smug smile. “Observation and assumption, Anna!”

“I
observe
that Lord Haverford has not come to call,” Anna retorted. “Though he is out of Town, so I suppose that does not signify.”

“I
observed
him squeezing your hand,” her
mother challenged, “and so I
assume
he finds you pleasing!”

“I cannot comment on his lordship’s feelings toward me.” Anna turned her attention to the passing scenery, hoping to put an end to the discussion.

“I also
observed
your dishabille when you returned to the box, Anna Eugenie Catherine,” Henrietta said pointedly. “And I
assume
that something of a romantic nature occurred between you and his lordship.”

“Mama!”

“Do not try to deny it,” Henrietta said, raising a staying hand. “I know what I observed, and I forgive you the transgression. I was the one who told you to encourage the earl.”

“You are making much of nothing.” Anna glanced away again before her mother could see the panic in her eyes. Henrietta was an astute woman, and she had a way of seeing through the mildest of deceptions.

For the night at the theater had indeed lingered in Anna’s thoughts, but not because of the earl.

“It is quite puzzling that he did not call on you before he left,” Henrietta mused.

Rome hadn’t contacted her either.

“I was certain after the theater that he would be on our doorstep the following day,” her mother persisted.

Had she been wrong to trust him?

“I certainly hope any…romantic interludes…between you did not change his opinion
of you. Men can lose all sense of civility if a lady acts even the slightest bit forward. I declare I do not understand the phenomenon.”

The first time she’d asked him for help, he’d refused.

“Can you recall anything you did or said that would make Lord Haverford less enthusiastic in his courtship?” Henrietta waited, watching her daughter with keen expectation.

Anna scrambled for something to say that would placate her mother. “When I saw him at Mrs. Emberly’s, his lordship did comment that he would attend Lord Severley’s ball.”

“Did he?” Henrietta’s expression brightened. “How gratifying. We, too, have received an invitation. I will accept at once. You must wear the peach silk, Anna.”

“Yes, Mama.” As her mother droned on about possible wardrobe accessories, Anna let her thoughts return to more pressing matters.

She had trusted Rome when he’d told her that he wasn’t a member of the society. What if he’d lied?

He hadn’t contacted her as he’d said he would. He also hadn’t really explained why he was at the dinner party that night. What if he’d simply been trying to get her to admit that
she
had been there? There had been no obvious connection between Rose and Anna Rosewood, yet somehow he had put the two together and even gotten her to admit the truth.

Had she signed her own death warrant?

A chill rippled down her spine. She glanced at
her mother, desperate to confide her fear. Mama continued to wax on about the wardrobe choices that would best ensnare Lord Haverford, oblivious to her daughter’s distress.

Anna pressed her lips closed and turned away to watch the passing scenery without really noticing any of it.

At least she had realized her own danger. She had only Rome’s word that he had no ties to the society, but a ring was an easy thing to remove and slip into a pocket. What if he was playing some game with her to see what she knew? Had she completely betrayed herself? She had spoken Anthony’s name, had not denied that she had passed herself off as a doxy named Rose. She had handed him all her careful research. And yet somehow, when she thought back on their conversations, Rome had managed to give her vague answers to every question she had put to him. He had assured her he would take care of everything.

What if that, too, was a lie? What if he had gleaned the information he sought from her and even now planned to remove her from the scene?

Tears stung her eyes.
Anthony, Anthony, I need you so right now!

She blinked the moisture back, not wanting to attract her mother’s attention. Anthony was dead. He would not come to rescue her as he had so many times in the past. She was utterly alone, with only her wits and instinct to guide her.

And she didn’t want to die.

She could stop her search for the truth, marry Haverford, and retire to the country to bear babies. She could pretend that she believed the Banbury tale of Anthony’s death at the hands of footpads. She could act as if she had never met Rome Devereaux.

She could do all that to remain safe—and she would betray Anthony in the process. To remain safe, all she need do was bury suspicions with her murdered brother. All she need do was leave his death unpunished.

Or she could keep going and uncover the secrets of the Black Rose society at the risk of her own life. And she might save others. She would find a way around her mother’s strictures and do what needed to be done. There would be no more bodies found in alleyways, no more mysterious deaths by sword, unexplainable to shocked families. She would finally be able to properly grieve for her brother.

Or she would join him.

Either way, she knew she could not give up. Walking away took more courage than she had.

Rome slipped through the throng clogging the doorway to the lending library. The crowd hummed with an appalling excitement that he had seen over and over again on the battlefield— and never been able to explain.

The
ton
—indeed, people in general—treated death as one more act in a macabre circus that equally outraged and titillated.

And now Robert Chambers graced the center ring.

“Dead—”

“Found him at the side of the road—”

“—bloody footpads! A man’s not safe in his own carriage—”

“His mother took to her bed—”

Leaving the buzzing crowd behind, Rome slipped into the relative quiet of the lending library, but the gossip had already taken hold. Through the tangle of bonnets and skirts, he saw Mrs. Rosewood deep in conversation with three other ladies and, behind her, Anna, her dark eyes wide and stricken in her pale face.

She saw him.

He froze, struck into immobility by the sheer destitution of her expression.

She held his gaze, accusation and devastation warring in her eyes. Her lips quivered, but she pressed them together firmly and stood tall, as if daring anyone to put a name to her obvious suffering. With an imperceptible tilt of her head, she indicated a row of bookshelves to her left. Then she inched away from her oblivious parent, eventually slipping out of sight between the huge wooden cases.

Rome went in the opposite direction and worked his way around the back aisle of the shelves until he came upon Anna in the far corner, behind a rack of ancient history texts. A stack of the thick, dusty tomes rested on a table
in front of her, rendering her nearly invisible to anyone passing. As he stepped into the cozy niche of table and shelves, she stood with neck bowed, a lacy handkerchief clutched in her hand. Her exposed nape lent a vulnerability that made his heart ache. Her head came up as she became aware of his presence, and she quickly crumpled the dainty bit of cloth in her fist and faced him.

“Anna.” He reached out a hand, but she flinched away.

“Don’t.”

“Sorry.” He dropped his hand to his side. “I had forgotten where we were.”

“I suppose you’ve heard the news already.” Her misty, reddened eyes broke his heart. “Robert Chambers was found dead on a country road. Killed by a sword.”

“I know. I wanted to tell you myself. I just missed you at home.”

“So you followed me here?”

“Yes. I was hoping the news had not yet spread.”

“I knew him, you know.” She stretched out the wrinkled bit of lace again. Twisting it in her fingers, she murmured, “He declared his undying love to me when we were nine.”

“Oh, Anna.” Heart aching for her, he had to glance away for a moment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Did you kill him?”

Her whisper jerked his head back around. “What did you say?”

“Did you kill him?” Pale as a marble statue, she waited, utterly still, for his answer.

“Of course not.” He scrambled for rational thought. “How could you think that?”

“You told me that night in Vauxhall that you had killed men.”

He nodded slowly. “It’s true. But I was a soldier, Anna. I killed men in battle, not in cold blood.”

“Are you part of the society?”

“No.”

“How can I believe you?” Her agitation brought color back to her cheeks, flags of red signaling a bull about to charge. “How can I take your word when men are being murdered all around us?”

“I can only tell you the truth, Anna. I can’t force you to believe me.”

“I thought I was brave. I thought I knew what path to take, whom to trust. But I don’t know anything.”

“You can trust me.”

“Can I?” The longing in her voice conflicted with the wariness of her expression. “I still don’t understand your part in all this. You have not confided in me, though you expect my confidence. Are you even conducting an investigation? Or was this all an elaborate ruse to find out what I know?”

“Of course there’s an investigation.” He held her gaze, desperate to chase that haunted look from her eyes. “Someone I care about is involved in the society. I want to keep him safe.”

“Who?”

“The brother of a friend.”

“I meant, what is his name? I want to talk to him.”

“No.”

“No?” The word jumped an octave in volume, but luckily not loudly enough to be heard over the steady rumble of gossip at the front of the room. She dropped to a whisper again. “If we are on the same side in this, you must tell me.”

“We are on the same side, but I’ll not put you in danger.”

Her mouth fell open. “How can you keep so vital a piece of information from me?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I will not endanger him or you by speaking his name.”

“And you want me to trust you?” Her eyes flashed fire. “I will do better alone, I think.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” He stepped closer, both to make his point and to inhale the forbidden scent of her. “You need me, remember?”

She narrowed her eyes and held her ground. “Rome, learning the truth about Anthony’s death is the only thing that kept me from Bedlam this past year.”

“Our deal was that I will do the actual investigating, and I will keep you apprised.”

“And I haven’t heard from you in three days!”

“Because there is nothing to report. I was going down your list and validating the facts.”

“Validating!”

“Yes,” he said. “You admitted that much of your
information came from gossip, and I am verifying all the facts. Hearsay can be misconstrued.”

“I’ve done a fine job of investigating,” she hissed.

“And taken your reputation in your hands with each escapade. For
both
our sakes, allow me to be the one to travel to the more unsavory parts of town while you turn your clever brain to untangling the new clues I uncover.”

Her angry posture relaxed. “Clues like the name of the member you refuse to tell me?”

“See? Clever.”

Her lips curved just a bit at the edges, as if her high dudgeon disallowed a true expression of pleasure. “I shall take that as a compliment, though I doubt you meant it that way.”

“Believe me, this whole situation would be easier if you weren’t so intelligent.” He touched a curl peeping from her bonnet. “Or so beautiful.”

“No.” She leaned away from him, smile fading and caution flickering across her face. “Ours is a business partnership, Mr. Devereaux.”

He took a step back. “You are correct, of course.”

“We must remember ourselves at all times,” she whispered, “and forget the night at Vauxhall.”

“I will never forget that night.” Just the memory stirred his blood.

“Then if you cannot forget, take the incident to the grave with you. But in any circumstance, it must not happen again.”

“I know.” He wanted to touch her again, but in
stead stroked the heavy leather binding of a tome on the table. “You belong to Marc.”

“Indeed.” She frowned. “Though Mama fears he has lost interest.”

If only that were true
.