Imposter Bride (5 page)

“Says who? I could win back the sum in one
evening!”

“Spoken like a true gambler.” Ramsay laughed dryly,
egging him on. “Or a fool.”

“No one calls me a fool!”

“No one could win that amount back in a single
evening.”

“You’ve not seen me in top form then.” Metcalf
raised his chin, which Ramsay doubted he had to shave more than
once or twice a week. Edward had once been taller and seemingly
much older than Ian, but that had been long ago. A lifetime ago.
“I’ll have you know I am a master at hazard!”

“Unfortunately, you shall not have the opportunity
to prove your claim.” Ramsay drained his glass, well aware that
Metcalf stared at him, outraged. “I must ask that you leave.”

“But I’m good for it! I’m to be married soon—to an
heiress.”

Ramsay made no mention of his visit with Miss Hinds.
“I put no stock in the outcome of nuptials, Metcalf.”

“All right then, what if I put up collateral?”

“Collateral?” Ramsay kept his tone neutral,
pretending to be innocent of the serious game he was playing. “In
what form?”

“Property.”

“Not Blethin Hall, surely.”

“Of course not. I’ve got a Scotch estate, up by Lake
Lemond. A place called Highclyffe.”

“Highclyffe? I’ve never heard of it.” More
innocence.

“It belonged to one of your Bonnie Prince Charlie’s
favorites, who unfortunately lost his head over his misplaced
loyalties. The king gave it to my family as a thank you for our
support.”

“You’d put this estate up as a marker?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it worth?”

“Well over a hundred thousand, I should think.”

“In Scotland? Fifty, maybe.”

“Seventy-five at the very least, Ramsay. I
swear.”

Ramsay paused for effect, making the earl wait. Then
he sighed. “Very well. You may play tonight. But on one condition.
Lose, and you must pay up within a fortnight or the Scotland estate
is mine.” Ramsay’s heart skipped in his chest. He hadn’t
experienced such a thrill since the time he and his troops had
ambushed British General Braddock and his men in the wilderness of
Pennsylvania. “And I’ll take care of the debts you owe the others.
Win, you are free and clear.”

“Fair enough.” The earl curled his lip. “But don’t
cherish any false hopes, Ramsay. You’ll not be getting
Highclyffe.”

“We shall see.” Ramsay stepped from behind the desk.
“I’ll have Puckett draw up a chit you can sign. And then you are
welcome to return to the floor.”

“I leap with joy.”

Ramsay ignored his sarcasm and left the room, hoping
he’d concealed his glee, such as it was. Glee was not a usual
occurrence in his world. He would withhold all emotion until the
earl won or lost at the tables this evening.

An hour later, Puckett rapped lightly upon the
woodwork of the doorway. At the sound, Ramsay glanced up from his
desk.

“You rang for me, sir?” Puckett inquired, his face
as sober and concerned as the first day Ramsay had hired him five
years ago. He thought his secretary would have warmed up over the
course of the years, but maybe it was his own doing that Puckett
remained formal. Ramsay had been told by various people, especially
ladies, that he was a difficult man to get to know, too abrupt, and
much too preoccupied with work to foster human relationships.

“Yes, come in.” Ramsay waved him forward.

Puckett flowed across the polished oak floor, his
shoulders straight, his back erect, as if he’d practiced walking
with a book on his head, much like young women did to improve their
posture. His customary gray wig had not a hair out of place, and
its queue was neatly tucked inside a black satin pouch.

“Did you take care of the earl?” Ramsay
inquired.

“Yes. He’s determined to keep playing.”

“Bad for him. Good for us.”

“Aye, sir.” Puckett managed a small uncharacteristic
smile.

“Puckett,” Ramsay reached for a pile of receipts.
“I’d like you to look into something for me.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to find out all you can about a young
woman named Sophie Vernet.” Ramsay flipped through the receipts as
he spoke. “She is reputed to be a murderess. Connected to that
Kensington killing. I’m curious as to the details.”

“I’ll begin an inquiry immediately, sir.”

“Good.”

Puckett turned for the door, and then rotated his
small frame back to face him again. “And did you find Miss Hinds at
the inn?”

“I did.”

“What was she like?”

“Hard to say. I never got much of a look at her. She
spoke to me from behind her dressing screen.”

“And may I inquire how you were received?”

“With impatience.” Ramsay lowered the stack of
receipts. “She wants to be a countess and doesn’t give a damn about
the financial status of her betrothed.”

“She isn’t concerned that he’s in debt?”

“She won’t have to worry about that, not with the
fortune coming to her.”

“But the earl will, in all likelihood, gamble that
fortune away, too.”

“She doesn’t see that far, Puckett. She sees only
the title. She sees becoming a member of London society, and that’s
the extent of her plan for the future.”

“Perhaps she is a good match for Lord Metcalf,
then.”

“You have a point.” Ramsay thought back to the
memory of the woman’s pouting tone, her prideful comments and the
cruel way in which she had struck her maid, all of which had set
him on edge. A woman such as Miss Hinds would drive a man to drink
in a fortnight, perhaps even goad Lord Metcalf out of his
ennui.

“So what do you intend to do, sir?”

“I’m going back there tomorrow morning for another
try. I’ll offer to find another more suitable husband. Anything to
thwart Metcalf. I intend to keep him desperate for money.”

“I wish you luck.”

“Thank you.”

Puckett turned for the door again.

“Oh and Mr. Puckett, find me some supper, will you?
I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Of course, sir.”

Ramsay gazed down at the sheaf of papers in his
hands, but all he could see was a vision of Highclyffe—a cluster of
granite towers standing sentinel in the mist above Loch Lemond. He
could picture the winding lane that curved up to the main gate, the
courtyard, and huge double doors under the archway entrance. So
many times in his life he thought he’d never walk through those
doors again. And now he was close enough to contemplate a return to
the place as lord and master. His heart suddenly seemed too big for
his chest, and he had to close his eyes against the burning ache
inside.

Since he was ten years old, orphaned and sent to
sea, he’d worked for this moment, planned every step, plotted each
movement of a complicated game. After twenty long years, he was
close to his goal. And he would let nothing stand in his way.

Sophie huddled behind four stacked barrels while she
stopped to consider her next move. She simply had to obtain a cloak
if she were to survive the night after all the shops closed and
forced her to face the elements. She had to find something to eat
as well. As she crouched in the cold, she suddenly recognized her
surroundings, and realized that in her wanderings during the
evening, she had made a large circle and had come back to the Queen
& Cross Inn where her mistress lodged.

Fortunately, the constable was nowhere in sight this
time. Perhaps it was best she bided her time here for the night.
After all, why would the constable return to a location he had
already searched? And who would be fool enough to return? With any
luck, Constable Keener was in another part of the city or even abed
by now. Yet Sophie doubted the man ever slept, judging by the way
he had doggedly pursued her. The price for her head must be
astronomical.

She straightened and glanced at the side door of the
inn, wondering if she could slip inside while Katherine and Agnes
slept, and retrieve her cloak. She should have taken the captain’s
lap robe when she jumped from his coach, but her nature was not
that of a thief, and she had chosen to leave the blanket
behind.

Quietly, she edged out from behind the barrels and
crept toward the door. She could hear people laughing and talking
in the public room on the ground floor of the inn. Perhaps they’d
be too busy to catch sight of a poor soul slipping through the
shadows. Sophie opened the door and stepped in, not looking right
or left in case someone might catch her eye and challenge her.
Ahead of her the stairs rose to the first floor. She scampered up
them, her numb hands and feet barely registering the rail beneath
her palm and the steps under her sodden shoes. The inn was none too
warm on the first floor, but what heat there was made the tips of
Sophie’s fingers and toes burn. Chafing her hands together, she
walked down the corridor that was flanked on either side by closed
doors.

All of a sudden she heard a familiar high-pitched
laugh coming from the direction of the stairs. Sophie flattened
against a door, hoping the inset doorway would hide her from her
mistress’ sharp regard. She heard the low tones of a man’s voice
say something.

“Why, I am appalled, sir!” Katherine tittered, her
words slurred by too much drink. Sophie could see her now, walking
with a tall man dressed in a dark brown coat. He bent toward her as
she put the key to the lock, and she glanced over her shoulder, her
face flushed and her eyes dancing merrily. “That you should suggest
such a thing!”

“Why would I not?” he responded. “You’re lovely, the
loveliest creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“But we just met.” Katherine pushed open the door to
her room but leaned against the doorway, one hand behind her skirts
and the other twirling the locket she always wore around her pale
white throat. Her body bowed coquettishly in his direction.
“Besides, I’m engaged.”

“Betrothed, I thought you said at dinner.”

“Betrothed, then.”

Sophie watched, amazed that her mistress would
endanger her reputation by dallying with a stranger.

He stepped closer and touched her cheek, allowing
the tip of his finger to trail down her jaw and then her
throat.

“All the more reason to take pleasure while you can,
Miss Hinds.” His finger traced the edge of her plunging
décolletage. “You’ll soon be bound to one man. Do you know how
tiresome that will be?”

“You provoke me, Mr. Giles.” Her breathing increased
so much that Sophie could hear her agitated little breaths from
where she stood down the hall.

“Such is my intent.”

“But my governess will be here any moment!”

“Then go back downstairs and tell her that you have
the headache and do not require her company. She can enjoy the rest
of the evening with her furniture maker.”

“I don’t know, sir—”

“She’ll be grateful. You see how she lingered for
just a moment more, letting you go on ahead. Women of her station
rarely have a chance to enjoy the company of a man.”

“You’re right. She doesn’t.”

“After you speak with her, dear lady, come to my
room.”

“And how would I know where that is?”

“It’s the first one on the right at the top of the
stairs.” He stroked her cheek again. “We can have a glass of claret
to toast our evening together. Nothing more if you don’t wish it. I
only want to share your company, as much as you will let me.”

“It does sound lovely—”

“It will be my pleasure and my honor to entertain
you.” He touched her lips with his finger. “I shall wait for your
knock.”

He turned on his heel and walked back toward the
stairs. Katherine lingered until she saw him disappear into his
room, and then she picked up her skirts and hurried toward the
stairs and Agnes down below, forgetting to close the door.

Not a moment later, Sophie heard voices approaching
from the other end of the corridor, from a direction where she
would surely be seen. She dashed for the chamber left open by her
giggly mistress and slipped inside, softly shutting the door behind
her. She gathered up her cloak from the chair Agnes had thrown it
over and stood up, looking around for the small travelling bag that
held her few possessions.

Suddenly, the harried hours of the last two days
overtook her, and a dreadful weariness weighed down her limbs and
eyelids. All she could think about was sitting down to rest. A
small fire glowed upon the grate, and she ambled closer, holding
out her hands to the heat. She glanced around the dark threadbare
room, the only familiar place she knew in the whole of London.

While Katherine and Agnes dallied with their
admirers, she could catch a few moments of much needed sleep and
stay warm at the same time. What could it hurt? Even if Katherine
returned later, the young woman would likely have imbibed a fair
portion of claret and would be in no condition to pose any danger
to Sophie.

Sophie retrieved a blanket from the end of the bed,
and folded it into her makeshift pallet. Then she piled a modest
portion of coal on the fire. She stretched out upon the course wool
of her mattress, tugging her cloak over her shoulders. Almost
immediately, the air beneath the wool fabric began to heat. She
sighed.

There in the darkness and the blessed warm space,
she closed her eyes. Only a few minutes of rest. That’s all she
needed to give her the strength to keep running. A few moments of
warmth and rest.

Ramsay could tell by the pattern of bumps that his
coach was close to his town house. He sat back and closed his eyes
against a slight headache that he hoped wouldn’t flare into a
migraine. The day had been long and the night had been stressful,
involving the intervention between two gentlemen who had come to
blows over a young baroness. The saving grace of the day had been
Lord Metcalf’s failure to recoup his losses at hazard.