Debra Mullins (3 page)

A
nna awoke the next morning not knowing where she was. For one sleepy moment she thought of Anthony and reached for him with her heart. But there was nothing there.

Then memory flooded back, and her eyes popped open. Over a year ago, death had snapped the bond with her twin like a twig beneath a booted foot. Yet every morning she woke and expected to find him nearby, as he had always been, even before their birth. And every morning the bitter disappointment of her aloneness nearly choked her.

She raised her hand to her neck, but the locket that always comforted her was not there. Then she remembered. It lay across the room on the bureau, sparkling in the morning sunlight. She recalled
Rome’s hand at her neck as the chain gave way…

Rome. Good heavens.

Anna fell back against the pillows, mortified, as memories of the previous night washed over her.

What had possessed her to allow a total stranger such liberties with her person? She laid a hand over her eyes, shocked at her own actions. She had followed that group of gentlemen to discover more about Anthony’s death, not to be mauled.

A twinge of guilt pricked her. All right, perhaps mauled was not the word. Molested? No, not quite right either.

Caressed?

A ripple of excitement shivered through her at the recollection of the astonishing sensations she had experienced. Not just caressed. Seduced. Thoroughly, indubitably seduced by a gentleman who knew exactly what he was about.

And despite the chagrin that arrived with the sunrise, a sense of giddy glee made her want to hold her secret close and giggle like a schoolgirl. Finally, she understood, a little bit, what all the fuss was about.

Wanton! She rolled over in bed, cheeks burning, and tried to push the shameful…shocking…delicious memories from her mind. She had no business reliving last night’s erotic adventures. She was an engaged woman—well, almost. She had no right to fantasize about a man who was not her future husband.

Instead, she should be concentrating on her brother.

The thought of Anthony sobered her as nothing else could. He must be her priority, scandalous escapades aside.

She swept back the covers and rose from bed to cross the room to the bureau. Picking up the broken locket, she flipped open the catch. Inside were two miniatures, one of her and one of Anthony.

The artist had captured her brother perfectly, from the devil-may-care grin to the sparkle of mischief in his brown eyes. His nearly black hair curled over his forehead like that of a little boy; he’d neglected to cut it, as usual. She smiled sadly, remembering how she’d badgered him about it. Then again, he’d only kept it unruly to annoy Papa.

The miniature of her was an older one, done when she was barely six. They’d both had their portraits painted that year, but Anthony had presented her with a more recent one of himself for her sixteenth birthday.

He’d always known exactly what she needed, always known the right thing to say. They were twins, completely in tune with one another’s thoughts and feelings. She wondered what he would have said about her actions last night.

As the first tear slid down her cheek, a soft knock came at the door. “Anna, dear? Are you awake?”

“Yes, Mama.” Sniffling, she glanced around for
something with which to wipe her eyes as her mother opened the door.

Seeing her daughter’s tears, Henrietta Rosewood’s face creased in sympathy, and she produced a fine lace handkerchief. “There now, darling.”

Anna took the handkerchief with her free hand and dabbed at the moisture around her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Her mother’s gaze fell on the locket in her hand, and she gave a sigh. Taking the necklace, she glanced briefly at Anthony’s miniature, her own expression softening to one of longing. Then she shut the locket with a snap. She frowned as she noticed the broken clasp. “Anna, what has happened to your locket?”

“It broke last night.”

“I thought you said you had not encountered any brigands when you got lost last night?” Concern sharpened her tone as she led her daughter to the chair at the vanity table and sat her in it. “You told me that when you got separated from our party at Vauxhall that no one had accosted you.”

“That’s true.”

“Anna.” Henrietta folded her arms and gave her daughter a stern look that had served her well being married to a naval officer these many years. “Were you assaulted or not? How did your locket get broken? Heaven knows you haven’t taken it off in years.”

“I wasn’t assaulted, Mama. My locket broke
when someone bumped into me.” Seduction didn’t count as assault, did it?

“Hmph.” For a moment, it seemed as if her mother didn’t believe her. Then she sighed, and Anna knew the danger had passed. Her mother placed the locket on the vanity table. “Well, we shall have to get it repaired then. I know how you treasure it.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

“I shall see to it. In the meanwhile, you will stay at home today. We are going to Lord Haverford’s for dinner tonight, and I want you to look your best.”

Guilt surged anew at the mention of the man she had been promised to—but not officially betrothed to—since birth. “Yes, Mama.”

“Wear the yellow silk. It suits you.”

Anna made another sound of assent as her mother prattled on about how she should wear her hair and what jewelry would best complement the ensemble. Having heard the lecture many times, she didn’t attend quite as well as she should have.

“—and since we will be dining
en famille
with Lord Haverford this evening, I do not have to tell you to be your most charming, darling. You must make a good impression on his family. Your very future hangs in the balance.”

“What? The earl’s family is attending the dinner?”

“Yes.” Henrietta wandered over to the wardrobe
and threw it open, regarding the dresses within. “His aunt and cousins will be joining us.”

“Goodness.” Her stomach fluttered as if butterflies had been let loose in it, and she pressed her palm to her belly.

Her mother caught sight of the motion and frowned. “You’re not ill, are you, Anna? You wouldn’t want his lordship to consider you sickly. Your father and I arranged this marriage so your future would be secure. But nothing is certain until Lord Haverford officially offers for you, and the papers are signed.”

“I know, Mama. And I do appreciate the fact that you and Papa have managed to give me such a wonderful opportunity.”

Henrietta sniffed in agreement. “Indeed, Lord Haverford is quite an eligible parti and would have been far above your reach had his father not been a childhood friend of your papa’s. You should be very grateful.”

“I am, Mama. Lord Haverford will make a fine husband.”

“And he’s young and attractive. You might have ended up married to someone much older and less agreeable.” Pursing her lips, Henrietta pushed aside one dress after another, mumbling to herself about hair and pearls.

Anna seized on her mother’s distraction to get her own emotions under control. She had always known she would become Lady Haverford, but lately everything seemed to be moving along
rather quickly. The betrothal had always seemed something that would happen in the distant future. Suddenly that future had become the present, and she faced the reality of an engagement happening before the year was out. Perhaps even before the Season’s end.

“You will be receiving callers with me this morning,” her mother said, pulling a pale blue morning dress from the wardrobe. “I must say, your idea to travel to London was an excellent one. How clever of you to consider how you would appear to Society when you become a countess when you’ve never even had a London Season! I won’t have it said my daughter is a country bumpkin. No, I certainly will not.”

“I thought it might help,” Anna murmured. Though at the time she had meant it would help in the search for the truth about Anthony’s death, not help her to become a more polished wife for Lord Haverford.

“Where is that wretched Lizzie?” Henrietta asked in exasperation. “We can expect callers quite early, and you are not ready.”

“I’ll be ready, Mama. I promise.”

Henrietta made a sound of impatience. “I will send Lizzie to you right away. And she can bring a cold compress for your eyes.”

“Heavens, are they very red?” Anna turned to study her face in the mirror.

“Not very.” Her mother came over and laid a
hand on her shoulder, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I miss him, too.”

Rendered mute by the emotion that clogged her throat, Anna squeezed her mother’s hand in a rare moment of mutual understanding. Then Henrietta turned and left the room, leaving her daughter alone with her thoughts.

Where the devil had Peter gotten to?

Rome stepped out of his carriage with a curt nod to the servant holding the door open for him. He stalked up the steps to his mother’s home and rapped the door knocker, frustration sharpening his every movement.

The harmless fencing club had changed before his eyes into something that could well prove dangerous. This morning he’d visited all Peter’s haunts and paid a call on his aunt. No one had heard from him all night. After the incident at Vauxhall, he was certain Peter had gone into hiding along with his cronies, and when Rome found him, the boy’s ears would bleed from the lecture he would receive.

As he waited for someone to come to the door, unanswered questions nagged at Rome like harping fishwives. Who was the swordsman who’d interrupted their party the night before and what was his connection to the fencing society? Where had Peter disappeared afterward? He wanted answers, and not just about Peter’s activities.

The fact that the alluring Rose had slipped away from him and disappeared without a trace did not improve his disposition.

The door opened, reminding him of the reason he was not still out searching. “Ah, Mr. Devereaux.” The butler stepped aside and motioned him to enter. “Your mother and Mrs. Emberly are waiting for you in the parlor.”

“Thank you, Hinton.” Rome stepped inside. In the few moments necessary to remove his hat and gloves and hand them to Hinton, he wrestled for control of his simmering emotions, forcing his annoyance and worry to the back of his mind. His mother was ever a fragile female, and his black temper would certainly ruin her evening.

When he had himself under control, he entered the parlor. His sister Lavinia sprang to her feet. “Rome!” she cried, throwing her arms wide to embrace her brother.

The last of his vexation melted away. “Have a care for my cravat, Vin.”

“So you value your elegant neckcloth more than your sister?” Lavinia fixed him with the same infectious grin she had worn as a child, her hazel eyes sparkling.

“Let us just say that you are both of equal value to me.” He squeezed his sister in an embrace that made her giggle.

“Roman, really.” From the settee, Eleanor Devereaux sent them an indulgent smile that under
scored the gentle scolding in her voice. “Lavinia, do remember you are a grown woman.”

“As if I can forget, Mama.” Vin gave him another beaming smile. “Congratulations, brother. I am about to make you an uncle.”

“What’s this?” Roman said, releasing her. “You and Emberly have finally decided to do your duty to the family line?”

“Roman!” his mother exclaimed.

“I’m simply shocked,” Rome said as he made his way over to kiss his mother on the cheek. “You and I know Vin has never done anything she is supposed to.”

Lavinia made faces at him, and Eleanor swatted him away with a playful wave. “Roman, you say the most scandalous things! I am thrilled for them both.” She sent him a sidelong glance. “It’s about time one of you made me a grandmother.”

“Better Vin than I. I’m in no hurry to carry on this family’s name.” Rome heard the bitterness in his voice even as he saw the distress flicker across his mother’s face. “Mother, I’m sorry.”

Eleanor gave a sigh, her soft green eyes glowing with remembered pain. “You have every right to feel that way, I suppose.”

“Don’t let my foul temper spoil things,” Rome said. He took her by the hands and pulled her from the settee so he could admire her evening dress. “Look at you. You’re ravishing!”

The compliment drew a blush from her. “Now,
Roman, don’t think you’re going to distract me that easily.”

“Tonight is not the night for unpleasant memories.” Rome held his hand out to Lavinia. “I am escorting the two most beautiful women in London to dinner. Clearly, I am the luckiest of men.”

“How clever of you to finally notice,” Lavinia quipped, clasping his hand.

“Neither of you will stop me from saying what I intend to say,” Eleanor said, putting a halt to the banter. “Roman, I worry that you’ll let your anger at your father keep you from living your life.”

“My anger? I’ve given up being angry at him. I’m more concerned with what he did to you.”

Eleanor gave an elegant shrug. “I’ve learned to live with it.”

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

“I agree with Rome,” Lavinia said.

“Well, that’s certainly a first,” Rome said, with a roll of his eyes. Lavinia slapped his arm with her fan.

“Will you please both of you control yourselves?” Eleanor pressed a hand to her forehead. “I swear the two of you will give me vapors with your constant warring.”

“He started it,” Lavinia said, but a stern look from her mother silenced her. With a pointed sigh, she returned to her seat on the sofa.

Ignoring her daughter’s pout, Eleanor laid a hand on her son’s arm. “Roman, I know what the scandal did to you, and I’m sorry for it.”

Rome patted the back of her hand. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

“But I must. Even from the grave, he still hurts you.”

He couldn’t think of a glib reply and settled for truth. “Mother, our father ruined his reputation and the reputations of all of us with it. But you will notice I have not let it destroy me.”

“Right or wrong, he was still your father, and you must accept that. He wasn’t a bad man.”

“No, just a foolish and selfish one.”

Eleanor shut her eyes and shook her head in defeat. “You must put that behind you and think about a family of your own.”