Debra Mullins (8 page)

Anna looked around frantically, but no one on the streets made a move to help her. Most of them looked away, as if they didn’t see what was going on. The door to the Cock and Crown opened, and three men strolled out. By some miracle, they headed toward the alley.

“Help!” she cried. “Please, help me!”

Graham cursed and yanked the veil away. “You’d better be worth my trouble, wench.”

Maude gripped Anna’s chin and tilted her face toward the light. “She’s a pretty one.”

“And look at that mouth. Blokes will line up to have a piece of that.”

Anna looked her tormenters in the face, opened her mouth, and screamed.

“What the—”

“Shut your mouth, you—” Graham shook her again.

“What’s going on over there?” The three men from the Crown broke into a run.

“Miss Rose!” Lizzie shoved open the door to the hack. “Hurry! Run!”

“You there!” The hack driver yanked a pistol from beneath the driver’s seat and fired it into the air.

At the report of the pistol, Graham dropped his grip. “She’s not worth dyin’ for. Come on!” He and Maude raced away down the street.

Anna gathered her skirts and bolted past the three men charging to her rescue and toward the open door of the coach, where Lizzie beckoned.

She scrambled inside and flopped back against the seat, panting, her heart pounding. Lizzie slammed shut the door to the hack, and the coach lurched into motion.

Through the window she saw Roman Devereaux standing near the alley, staring after her with openmouthed astonishment.

The search of the alley had revealed nothing in the way of Dalton’s death, but the presence of the lady named Rose had shaken him.

Dear God, could it really be Anna Rosewood?

Back in his rooms, Rome stripped off his coat and hung it in the wardrobe, then began to untie his cravat as he walked across the room to the
brandy decanter. He paused beside the liquor and struggled with the knot in his neckcloth. It would be a hell of a lot easier to dress fashionably with a valet, but as a former soldier, he lived simply and saw to his own needs. Most of his blunt went to support his mother’s comfortable home, and it pleased him to be able to provide for her.

He won the battle with the knot, and with the wrinkled cravat dangling from his neck, he poured himself a glass of brandy and pondered the situation.

The young girl in the hack tonight had looked like the maid Anna had forgotten at Lavinia’s home. He had only caught a glimpse of the girl when Vin had arranged for her to be sent back to the Rosewood residence, and the light on the street had been dim. Yet the girl in the hack had called his mysterious lady “Miss Rose,” and Miss Rose herself bore a striking resemblance to Anna Rosewood.

If it were any other woman, he would not be doubting his own eyes. But why would Anna Rosewood be in that part of town, in the company of a harlot and her partner?

He tossed back a swallow of the brandy and savored the taste on his tongue. The evidence didn’t lie. He’d seen the lovely Rose up close, had kissed her and touched her.

Lord, had he touched her.

And if Rose and Anna were the same woman…

That meant he had played fast and loose with his cousin’s future bride.

He groaned and sat down as the truth crashed over him. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, had willed it to be untrue. How could it be that the one woman who had gotten him that sexually excited happened to be Haverford’s future bride?

He’d known that night that she wasn’t a common doxy. He’d sensed something unusual about her, recognized the hints of her breeding and dismissed them, never for one instant imagining that a lady would find herself in such a situation.

She hadn’t corrected his assumption. She’d not rejected his advances, hadn’t slapped his face soundly or screamed for help. No, instead she’d called herself by a different name. She’d responded to his kisses. She’d climaxed in his arms.

Bloody, bloody hell! What game did she play?

He squeezed his eyes shut in horror as his father’s path stretched before him. Had she known who he was? Had she realized the irony of the situation?

Or perhaps that had been a thrill of her twisted game?

He reined in his wild imagination and forced himself to think logically.

The reason he had been at the Cock and Crown had been to investigate Dalton’s death. What if Anna had been there for the same reason? After all, they had first met at Vauxhall at a dinner party hosted by members of the Black Rose Society.
Then he had seen her tonight near the Crown. Either Anna Rosewood was involved with the Black Rose Society in some capacity, or else she knew of their activities and was sticking her pretty nose where it didn’t belong.

But why?

Whatever her reasons, she had dragged him into a situation he had secretly dreaded all his life, yet never expected to occur.

When his father, curse him, had run off with the old earl’s fiancée twelve years ago, the incident had shamed his mother, had destroyed Vin’s faith in men. As for him, he’d been forced to prove he was not his father’s son. His cousin Marc had had every reason to cut off their branch of the family completely.

But Marc was a good man. An optimist, who believed in second chances. It had been his endorsement of Rome’s family that had given Vin the social cachet needed to snare Emberly as a husband. His mother still dared not show her face in Society, but Marc still invited Eleanor to events. He’d paid for Rome’s commission, giving him a chance to prove himself a man of honor in his own right. He owed Marc much.

Haverford had earned his respect and loyalty by supporting the family when no one else would. He must
never
find out what had happened at Vauxhall.

The consequences of exposure staggered him. Marc trusted no one since Rome’s father had run
off with his future stepmother. Another scandal would tear asunder the few shreds of dignity the family had left, and it would ruin Anna’s family as well. Marc himself might retire completely from society and from the company of his own family, might even decide not to wed at all.

Which, ironically, would leave Rome as his heir.

And oh, what fun the gossips would have with that tidbit! No doubt they would accuse him of deliberately seducing Marc’s fiancée in order to keep his status as heir. Marc might even believe it himself.

That thought pierced deeply, as nothing else had. Would Marc truly believe that Rome could act so dishonorably?

Dear God.

He swiped a hand over his face, blowing out a harsh breath. He couldn’t let that happen, not any of it. Such disgrace would cost him the career in diplomacy that he so desired, but it was the emotional repercussions that ripped him apart.

History could not be allowed to repeat itself.

Rome tossed back the last dregs of brandy and set the glass aside. In order to avert disaster, he would have to get Anna alone and talk to her. He would make her confess her duplicity, then he would swear her to secrecy, with blackmail if necessary.

And after he got to the bottom of the Black Rose Society and made sure Peter was safe from harm, he would obtain a diplomatic position, no matter
what the cost, and he would have himself assigned to a country far away from London.

And far away from the temptation of Anna.

Because the worst part of it was, even though he knew that she belonged to another, he still wanted her for himself. And the shame of that truth dishonored him far greater than anything Society had ever dealt him.

H
averford’s theater box had an excellent view of the theater and, in turn, the occupants of the theater had an excellent view of Anna, seated beside the earl. She watched as various members of the
ton
put their heads together, whispering, while they cast their speculative glances toward the Haverford box. Their pointed interest did little to ease Anna’s nerves. Last night’s near disaster haunted her still, and she found herself more than once stroking the familiar cameo of her newly repaired locket between her fingers in an old gesture of anxiety.

Would Roman Devereaux betray her?

She squirmed in her seat, only to earn a sharp look of rebuke from her mother. Forcing herself to stillness, she focused on breathing. The rising feel
ing of suffocation was more mental than physical, because of her sensitivity to the close confines of her surroundings. Though large enough to accommodate all the members of their party, the box seemed unusually crowded to Anna, no doubt due to the brooding presence of Roman Devereaux.

Rome had been watching her all evening. He wasn’t obvious about it; that would have drawn inquiry. But since Anna had been watching
him
as well, she had noticed his intense study.

She had seen the look on his face outside the tavern. He’d clearly recognized her, but had he identified Anna Rosewood or Rose from Vauxhall Gardens? Either way, he suspected something.

But what would he do about it?

“Is something wrong with your locket?” Haverford’s quiet inquiry jolted her back to the present.

“Not at all.” She realized she was toying with the cameo again and dropped her hand to her lap, attempting a reassuring smile.

“Are comedies not to your liking?” He searched her expression, his gray eyes steady and earnest.

“On the contrary, I quite enjoy them.” She glanced down at the play being enacted below. “Some of them are very clever.”

“I picked this performance specifically because I thought you would enjoy it.”

This time her smile was genuine. “And you were correct, my lord.”

He winced. “Please, call me Haverford. Or even Marc.”

Flustered, she glanced down at her hands as heat swept through her cheeks. “I could never be so bold as to use your Christian name.”

“Haverford then.” In a move so quick as to be invisible to anyone outside their box, he covered her hand with his own and squeezed it. Then he made a show of holding up his program with both hands for the benefit of the observing gossips below.

Staggered by so daring a gesture by a man considered impeccably proper, Anna turned her head slightly to glance at her mother, who sat behind and slightly to her right—the perfect angle to witness the earl’s clandestine caress. Mrs. Rosewood kept her gaze fixed on the actors below, but a small, satisfied smile curved her lips. The admiral dozed in his chair beside her, and next to her parents, on the far right, Lavinia grinned at her, clearly having observed the brief gesture of affection across the seat that remained empty on Haverford’s other side.

From beside Lavinia, with a clear view of everything, Rome glared at her, his program crumpled in his fist.

His displeasure hit her like a blow, and she swiftly turned her attention back to the play.

Bother Roman Devereaux and his foul humor! Haverford’s actions illustrated his regard. No doubt he would offer soon, and they would be officially betrothed. For an instant she indulged herself and imagined the announcement in the
Times
, the banns being read at the church, the engage
ment ring she would be able to show to all her friends. What would her wedding dress look like? Where would they go on their honeymoon?

She thought of their wedding day, of walking down the aisle on her father’s arm to meet her groom before the altar, of his green eyes glittering with passion as he bent to give her the kiss of peace…

Haverford’s eyes were gray.

Good Lord. She clenched her fingers around her reticule, squeezing her eyes shut, wishing the image away. But it would not be banished.

The man she saw waiting for her at the altar was Rome.

It seemed as if an eternity passed before intermission.

Haverford had danced attendance on Anna throughout the whole first act. He had a right to do so; Anna was the woman he intended to wed. But Rome hated watching it.

Everyone else in their box clearly approved of Haverford’s actions, seeing the courtship unfold as it should under normal circumstances. But these circumstances were
not
normal. Not with Anna’s secret activities casting a shadow on the whole situation.

Not with Rome’s own desires warring with his determination to do what was right.

The theater patrons began wandering to other boxes to greet their friends or to the lobby to seek
refreshment. Mrs. Rosewood stood. “Quentin, do escort me to dear Sophia’s box.”

The admiral awoke with a harrumph. “What’s that?”

She tapped him on the shoulder with her folded fan. “Do come with me, Quentin. Right now.” She tilted her head ever so slightly toward Haverford and Anna, who were conversing quietly.

The admiral glanced over and hauled his bulk from the chair. “Indeed. Delighted to, my dear.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Lavinia whispered to Rome as the Rosewoods left the box. “Do you suppose they will fall in love? I do so adore a romance.”

“It’s an arranged marriage, Vin, not a love match.”

Vin wrinkled her nose. “Really, Rome, you are such a cynic.”

“Just a realist.”

“Cynic,” she insisted. “Now do be a dear and fetch me some lemonade. I will stay and chaperone.”

He rolled his eyes even as he stood up. “Vin, Miss Rosewood is only a year younger than you are.”

“But I am a married woman.” Vin gave him that impish grin that always washed away his annoyance with her.

“Thank God for it,” he muttered. “Let Emberly be your keeper then.” She made a face at him, and he turned to leave just as a distinguished older man entered their box. The gentleman held him
self with the bearing of a military man, and his silver hair and mustache made him look older than his youthful stride implied.

“Devereaux,” he said with a polite nod. “I saw you from across the way.”

“Mr. Vaughn.” Surprised but pleased, Rome acknowledged the greeting.

Marc stood up. “Evening, Vaughn. I thought you didn’t care for the comedies.”

Edgar Vaughn made a face. “Tragedies or histories are more to my taste, my lord, but my wife enjoys these wretched farces.”

“Ladies often do,” Marc agreed. “May I present Miss Rosewood, daughter of Admiral Rosewood?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vaughn,” Anna said. “My father has spoken of you.”

“Charmed to meet you, Miss Rosewood. Your father’s a fine man,” Vaughn said.

“And this is my sister, Mrs. Emberly,” Rome said, indicating Lavinia.

“Henry Emberly’s wife, eh?”

“Yes. I’m honored to meet you, Mr. Vaughn.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Emberly.” He turned back to Rome. “Well, Devereaux, I won’t keep you from this delightful company. Just wanted to pay my respects. I expect I’ll see you tomorrow at three o’clock?”

“Most definitely, sir.”

“Excellent. Until then.” Vaughn exited the box.

“Heavens, Rome!” Lavinia squealed. “
He singled you out
. He intends to offer you a position!”

“Perhaps,” Rome said, still bemused by Vaughn’s visit.

“Appears so to me.” Marc clapped him on the shoulder. “You look like you need a drink, Rome. Come with me while I fetch some lemonade for Miss Rosewood.”

“I need more than lemonade.” Elation surged through him. “By God, it does look promising, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Marc nodded, clearly pleased.

“This is so wonderful!” Vin squealed.

Anna smiled at him, her beautiful eyes luminous with happiness. “I’m certain you will secure the position.”

Rome basked in the warmth of her approval, falling beneath the spell of her welcoming gaze. It was as if her soul reached out for his, beckoning him near. The world narrowed to just the two of them, heartbeat for heartbeat, breath for breath.

He knew when she, too, got caught up by the current of desire. Awareness flickered across her face and a moment of panic. But it was too late. She was trapped there with him, swept along by this unappeased hunger, a prisoner of forbidden desire.

“Lemonade, Lavinia?” Marc’s voice jerked him free of the siren song.

“Yes, thank you.”

“All right then. We’ll be back once we’ve fought our way through the crowds.” Marc grinned at the ladies. “And once we’ve located something stronger for Rome.”

Rome glanced from Marc to Vin, but neither seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. He peeked back at Anna, but she looked away, spine perfectly straight, hands folded properly in her lap.

For some reason her posture infuriated him.

How dare she act the part of the well-bred lady? She drove him mad with one smile, one glance. When she cast her attention his way, he forgot everything but how much he wanted her. Where was his pride, his sense of honor? How could his body betray him like this?
How could she betray Marc by looking at another man like that?

She had been there that night at Vauxhall. She had climaxed in his arms, and she had enjoyed it. The scent of her pleasure had clung to his fingers hours after they’d parted ways.

His joy at Vaughn’s acceptance of him faded in the face of the truth. Anna played a cruel game with him and with Marc, a game that could erupt into scandal and destroy everything he had worked so hard to achieve.

Tonight he would put a stop to that once and for all.

“I am so pleased I could burst,” Lavinia said as soon as the men departed. “Rome has worked so hard, and now it seems as if his dream will come true!”

Anna smiled and nodded, unable to utter a civil word. Her blood thundered through her veins,
practically deafening her. Her entire body trembled with the strain of controlling her unruly emotions. She clenched her shaking fingers around her fan, the stiff spines digging into her flesh and keeping her focused on the here and now.

What had just happened, and how could it have happened with Haverford standing right there?

Lavinia moved into Haverford’s chair. “Father’s scandal affected him the most,” she confided in a low tone. “Mama was mortified, of course, and I was too young to know what had happened, just a child, really. But Rome had just finished his time at university. Suddenly the doors of Society closed in his face, as if everyone expected him to be as dishonorable as my father.” She sighed, her normally vivacious mien giving way to a mature sobriety. “If it hadn’t been for Haverford’s buying his commission, I don’t know what would have become of my brother.”

“He was fortunate that the earl is a kind man,” Anna managed, her heart aching for the outcast youth Rome had been.

Lavinia grinned and squeezed Anna’s hand. “No,
you
are fortunate to be marrying such a decent sort.”

“I’m not—”

“Now don’t even begin with that nonsense that your betrothal is not yet official! I think we can all see what Haverford’s intentions are.”

Anna blushed. “I hate to presume.”

Lavinia giggled. “Oh, Anna, you and Haverford are truly a perfect match.”

Were they? With such traitorous feelings confounding her normal modesty, Anna had begun to wonder if she deserved so honorable a husband as Lord Haverford.

Lavinia leaned close. “I have the pressing need to refresh myself, Anna, yet I dare not leave you unchaperoned. Do come with me.”

“Lavinia!” Scandalized at her friend’s candor, Anna glanced about, hoping no one had overheard.

“Just come with me. Please, Anna!”

The urgency in Lavinia’s voice prompted Anna to rise from her seat. “Very well.”

“Thank you!” Lavinia hurried out of the box, clearly driven by the insistence of her body’s needs. “We shall no doubt meet Haverford and Rome on the way back.”

“No doubt.” Anna trailed behind her friend and wondered with a hint of desperation when the impetuous Devereaux family would cease rattling her composure.

A bracing draught had done wonders to restore Rome’s equanimity regarding Vaughn’s possible approval, but his ire at Anna’s subtle rejection still simmered.

Haverford preceded Rome back to the box, a glass of lemonade in each hand. The crowd parted for the earl like the Red Sea before Moses,
and the deference only made him feel worse. Marc had used his influence to ensure that Rome had a chance to mold his own future, and here Rome stood on the brink of insulting his cousin beyond measure. He was disgusted with himself.

They reached the box, only to find it empty.

“How puzzling,” Marc mused. “Where have the ladies gone?”

“Perhaps they are visiting another box.”

“Perhaps.” Frowning, Marc set down the two lemonades.

“I’m certain they’re together, wherever they are. Would you like me to go look for them?”

“I’ll come with you,” Haverford said, but as they turned to leave, the Duke of Brimwald entered the box, his ruddy face fixed in a frown.

“Haverford, there you are! Want to have a word with you about that sheep debacle in Leicestershire,” the duke commanded in his booming voice.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Haverford glanced meaningfully at Rome.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Rome said, bowing to Brimwald.

The duke sent Rome a look of disapproval and did not reply.

“You remember my cousin, Roman Devereaux, don’t you, Your Grace?” Haverford asked smoothly.

So challenged, the duke had no choice but to acknowledge Rome with a curt nod. “Devereaux.”

Still easing his way, thought Roman. Where
would he be without his cousin’s benevolence? Rome caught Haverford’s gaze. “Shall I fetch the ladies?”

“Yes, please do.”

Needing no more urging, Rome took his leave of the gentlemen and ducked out of the box. As he wandered through the crowd, he looked for Vin and Anna, his greater height allowing him to see over the heads of most people. Finally, he spotted them talking to a slender, dark-haired man.