Elizabeth Boyle (39 page)

“That may be my fault,” Giles commented as he pulled on his black breeches. “I’ve offered them a half stake in my plantation in Virginia. I need someone there to manage it, and your brother thought it would be a good place to start over. Your father was also of the same mind. The house there is large and needs a big family to make it feel more welcome when we go to visit.”

Sophia’s eyes glowed with her appreciation. “No wonder I’ve loved you for so long. I knew what kind of man you were.”

Giles turned away from her emotionally charged words, unable to find the right way to respond to her praise.

What he hadn’t mentioned was that he intended to send her to the Colonies with her family. Dryden’s visit to Larkhall Manor had also been of a business nature.

There was trouble brewing in the Russian court of Empress Catherine, and someone was needed to review the situation immediately.

What would Sophia say when she found herself being shipped to the Colonies with her family? She’d curse him and hate him.

Atlantic crossings held their own danger, but less so than traveling the perilous steppes of Russia. And it was the only way he knew to make sure she didn’t follow him.

He edged his way to the window and looked outside. To his surprise a strange carriage turned up Byrnewood’s driveway and rolled toward the house.

As the carriage drew closer, he assumed it was one of Sophia’s Ramsey aunts arriving from Larkhall Manor to see if their “poor, dear niece” survived the night.

Reaching for his shirt, Giles pulled it on hastily. If this was Lady Dearsley, he wouldn’t put it past the woman to barge into the bedroom to make sure Sophia was still alive.

The carriage pulled to a stop and a footman stepped forward to open the door. A cold chill—a premonition of anger—swept through Giles as first Lord Lyle and then Rostland climbed down.

He looked back at Sophia, still hard at work on her composition.

“Are you going to be much longer?” he asked.

“I thought I would bathe and wash my hair. It might take some time.” She smiled. “You’re famished, aren’t you? I can’t imagine why.” This was followed by a sensual laugh. “Go on ahead and eat. You’ll need the fortification.”

Giles glanced one more time out the window. “Take all the time you want.”

An hour later, Sophia ventured out of the master suite, having taken great care with her appearance on this, her first full day as Lady Trahern. She wasn’t more than halfway down the hall when Webb stepped out of an alcove.

“I thought you were never going to come out of there. We’ve got trouble brewing.”

Sophia stepped back. “Is it Lily again? I told her to stop pestering you. If you want I can speak to
Maman
and ask her to—”

“No, it isn’t your sister. It’s worse.”

“What is it?”

“Do you know who your husband has been closeted with in the library for the last hour?”

“No. We aren’t expecting any more guests.”

“Don’t know that I’d call them guests. It’s Lyle and Rostland.”

Sophia took a sharp, deep breath, stunned. “What?” she whispered.

“That’s why I’ve been out here pacing for the last half hour. Lily came tearing into my room to tell me Giles was in trouble.”

“Trouble . . .” Sophia didn’t really need to ask what kind of trouble; anything wrought by those two evil men would spell disaster.

“Oh, don’t get that look,” Webb told her. “It scares me. Besides, Giles is holding his own. For now. If I know that pair they’ve figured out who you are—or rather, were— and now they want to blackmail your husband into keeping the secret.”

“Giles won’t give them a shilling.” He’d better not, she thought fiercely.

“He might not have a choice. They will ruin your reputation, ruin the Trahern name.”

Webb’s statement stopped Sophia. After her rescue in Paris and her subsequent return to England, she hadn’t even blinked before Giles pulled her in front of the parson and married her. Flush with her own selfish happiness, she’d forgotten her vow to go to the Colonies in hopes of keeping the stain of her misdeeds from tarnishing the Trahern name. “This is all my fault.”

“There is a way out of this, if you have the stomach to face those old lechers. Besides, I think Giles needs to learn that his independent days are over. He needs us.”

To save Giles’s honor and his family’s name she’d face the very demons of the underworld. After all, this disaster was her fault. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Do you still have those items you ‘borrowed’ from Lyle’s safe?”

She nodded. “Yes. It’s just about all I have left.”

“Good woman. No wonder Giles snapped you up. Now this is what we’ll do.”

Seated at his desk, Giles slammed his fist down on the cherry-wood surface. Ignoring the pain shooting up his arm, he glared at the two men in his study. “I won’t give either of you the coppers for your eyes when I kill you.”

Lyle looked down at his nails, obviously bored with the amount of time this meeting was taking. “You’ll pay, Trahern. Every bit of it.”

“Never.”

Rostland stretched his long, thin legs out in front of him, his Hessians gleaming. “And why ever not? The amount is more than fair. Especially when you consider what is at stake.”

Giles didn’t need to be reminded what was at stake. The two vultures had made their position very clear.

Lyle studied the document in his hand and laid it back down on the desk. “The court record is rather clear— Sophia D’Artiers, known as La Devinette. And the drawing from the pamphlet is quite good. See for yourself.”

“La Devinette?” Rostland asked Lyle. “My French is terrible. How does that translate again?”

“A whore,” Lyle said, his gaze never leaving Giles.

Giles restrained himself from killing the man outright for the slur against his wife. He would be well within his rights to call the man out and kill him for the insult, but he knew before Lyle died, the man would wreak havoc for Sophia and her family that wouldn’t be undone for generations.

And there was also Rostland. Giles looked over at the reed-thin man in his fussy, fashionable clothes.

Giles would kill them both if he had to.

“I see the murder in your eyes,” Lyle commented, his hands resting comfortably on his fat belly. “It would be a poor decision. For if I meet with an untimely demise, an accident, anything, my solicitor has been instructed to publish a full account of Lady Trahern’s activities. And he will hand out certified copies of the affidavits we’ve collected to anyone interested in reading about her exploits as La Devinette and as the Brazen Angel.”

Rostland leaned forward. “We actually considered selling the idea for a novel, but no one would believe it.”

“Then what makes you think they’ll accept this pile of lies when you are dead?”

“Because they’re the truth. You know it, I know it, and if you don’t pay what we ask, then the entire world will learn of your wife’s true proclivities,” Lyle said.

Giles scrambled to his feet, fully intending to come around his desk and kill Lyle outright.

Just then the study door opened. In walked Sophia, a covered tray in her hand. Bumping the door shut with her hip, she smiled apologetically as the tray tipped precariously in her hand. “I’m not much of a domestic,” she explained. “With such important business being discussed, my lord husband, I thought you might like me to bring in refreshments for our guests so as to keep these matters private.”

He could well imagine what arsenic-laden cups she had in mind to serve their guests. And he doubted either man would drink willingly anything she offered.

She continued into the room, all but ignoring Lyle and Rostland, who had risen at her entrance. Placing the tray on the table between the two men, she lifted the silver dome.

She stepped back, allowing Giles to see what poison she offered their guests.

“Is this what you gentlemen were hoping to find?” she asked politely, coming around the desk to stand at Giles’s side.

He looked at the contents, unsure of what he was seeing.

“Printing plates,” she explained. “For French
assignats
. Your guests have been counterfeiting.”

“I deny this,” Lyle said, backing away from the evidence. “What proof do you have?”

“I stole these from your safe months ago.”

Her statement stopped even Giles. What could she be thinking? Publicly announcing she was the Brazen Angel? After he’d spent the last hour denying the possibility.

But the plates did explain why the pair had hunted her so ruthlessly.

“So you admit you are the Brazen Angel?” Lyle said, closing in, a nasty smile on his face, as if he couldn’t be more pleased at her hasty admission.

Sophia leaned over the desk and met Lyle’s stare with a deadly one of her own. “Why deny it?”

Giles had to admire her bravado. It seemed to be working. Her opponent backed down slightly, obviously surprised and unsure how to proceed when the lady seemed more than willing to ruin herself.

Lyle pointed down at her evidence. “So what if I printed French money? What is any Englishman going to care if I contributed to the downfall of that horrid Revolution? Counterfeit money has made their economy so unstable, they won’t last but another season.”

“And just in time for you to have bought up as much French land as you can with your worthless bills,” she responded.

Giles stared at his wife in amazement. How did she know this? Then he remembered her claim that Webb had been betrayed by an Englishman. Giles knew Webb’s investigation had involved checking out strange transfers of English money into Switzerland. There had also been the disappearance of several other English agents looking into the situation.

It was one thing when the English government sanctioned foreign operations by their agents, but rogue ventures by greedy civilians were frowned upon. Especially when they caused the deaths of English agents.

“Buying land in France? Why ever would I do that?” Lyle scoffed, though to Giles’s trained eyes the man looked uncomfortable at her latest accusation.

Sophia had the truth of the matter, and Lyle didn’t like it one bit.

“Why indeed?” she said. “With land going so cheaply and you able to print your own money to buy it, it sounds like quite a worthy investment to me.”

“Perhaps I should look into it for you,” the man countered with a mocking smile.

“You already have, Lord Lyle.” Sophia’s hands went to her hips.

Giles knew that move. It meant she was quickly running out of patience for the man in front of her.

“You’ve been snapping up French holdings for a song,” she accused. “And if the poor
émigrés
make it to London, you sell them back their own family lands for gold or whatever hard currency they can scrape together. I’d say you had quite a business going—that is, until you were caught.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. Considering your reputation for veracity, Lady Trahern, this story is as fanciful as your masquerade as that Brazen tart. At least I didn’t rob anyone. I bought land that was freely for sale and resold it at a profit. There is nothing wrong with a little commerce between gentlemen.”

“Profit made with counterfeit bills?” she countered.

Rostland stepped forward, joining in the fray. “Profit is profit. We took great personal risks to buy the land. Why should we risk our money as well?”

“That may be,” Sophia agreed. “There is nothing English law can do to you for counterfeiting French currency, but I’m sure English law does take a dim view of treason and murder.”

“Murder?” Lyle burst out, his face mottled with rage. “You have no proof.”

Giles wondered at the man’s quick and angry reaction. Only guilt drove a man to snap like that, like an animal trapped in a corner.

“But I do,” his wife shot back. “When English agents started investigating the uncommon rise in aristocrats being turned in to the Committee, both here and in Paris, they started to look into your misdeeds. You would lure unsuspecting French nobles to Paris with the offer to secure their lands on their behalf, and then you’d have them betrayed. And collect a tidy sum for the reward on their heads. When their lands came available you snapped them up and sold them back to the grieving widows in London.”

“English law has no authority over these transactions. Your arguments are meaningless.”

Sophia shook her head and moved forward. “That might be true, if you hadn’t done this to the Duc de Lemoine.”

Lyle paled visibly, but recovered quickly. “The man’s death was unfortunate, but hardly a matter of English concern.”

Giles realized all too quickly the point Sophia was making. Now he knew he could step in and bolster her attack without destroying her masterful plan. “That would be true, but Lemoine wasn’t a French citizen. He was an Englishman. And an English agent.”

Rostland stepped back from Lyle’s side. “You said he was of no concern.”

“Quiet!” Lyle ordered. “There is no proof.”

“Yes, there is,” Sophia said with firm conviction. “There was one other man involved in your dealings with Lemoine.”

This time Lyle smiled. “The man you speak of, unfortunately, followed Lemoine to the guillotine. Unless you have by some miracle the means to reattach a man’s head.”

Sophia smiled at Giles. “Should I show him my latest amusement?”

Giles nodded. “Please, with my blessing.”

Sophia strolled past Lyle’s pompous stance and opened the door to the study.

“May I introduce my miracle,” she said, curtsying to her new guest. “Webb Dryden.”

Rostland sputtered and staggered back. Pointing his narrow finger at Lyle, he spouted out his accusations. “You said he was dead. That there would be no proof. This is all your fault.”

“Quiet!” Lyle shot back. “You’ll hang us for sure with this blathering.”

Giles shook his head at how quickly the two fiends fell upon each other when they finally faced their reckoning.

“I think hanging will be the least of your worries,” Webb said, walking into the room. “Arrest these men,” he said over his shoulder.

A detachment of local soldiers marched into the room, subduing the crying Rostland and the still-protesting Lyle.