Mischief (12 page)

“Yes. He is in charge of my inheritance and he is stealing it. Last year Mama and Papa gave me my first Season. Mama said I was to have another this year, but my uncle refuses to pay for it. I realize that he does not want me to marry and thereby escape his household. As long as I am forced to live in his home, he will have control of my money. I have been trapped in Devon since my dear parents died.”

“Trapped? That sounds something of an exaggeration,” Matthias muttered.

“It’s the truth.” Patricia snatched a hankie from her reticule and began to sob into the little square of linen. “When I protest my uncle’s treatment of me, he laughs. He tells me that he deserves the money because he was the only one who was willing to give me a home after Mama and Papa died. He reminds me that you want nothing to do with me, my lord. I know that is true, but now I must throw myself on your mercy.”

At the sight of her tears, bleak memories howled across Matthias’s soul. He hated tears in a woman. They never failed to bring back those occasions on which he had been expected to deal with his mother’s periodic bouts of weeping. He had always felt helpless to comfort her and at the same time consumed by rage because his father had walked out and left him to handle the situation.

“I shall have my solicitor look into the matter of your finances.” Matthias downed a large swallow of the brandy and waited for the heat of it to warm him. “Something can be worked out.”

“It will do no good. My lord, I beg you, do not send me back to my uncle’s house.” Patricia clenched her
hands in her lap. “You do not know what it is like there. I
cannot
go back. I’m afraid, my lord.”

“Of what, for God’s sake?” Matthias narrowed his eyes as an unpalatable thought occurred to him. “Your uncle?”

Patricia shook her head quickly. “No, my lord. He ignores me for the most part. He is interested only in my inheritance. But two months ago my cousin Nevil came to stay with us after he was sent down from Oxford.” She lowered her gaze to her tightly clasped hands. “He frightens me, sir. He is always watching me.”

Matthias scowled. “Watching you? What the devil are you talking about?”

Miss Grice cleared her throat and fixed him with a steely gaze. “I trust you can hazard a guess, my lord. You are a man of the world. Think of it. A young man with a distinctly unsavory reputation moves into the household. The young lady of the house does not feel well protected from unwanted advances. I’m sure that there is no need to go into details. I myself was in a similar situation at one time in my younger days. Very difficult.”

“I see.” Matthias rested an arm along the black marble mantel and tried to marshal his thoughts. “Surely you must have other relatives, Patricia? Someone else on your mother’s side?”

“No one else who will take me in, sir.”

Matthias drummed his fingers on the cool marble. “Something can be arranged.” He looked at Miss Grice, seeking inspiration.

“Lady Patricia informs me that you are her brother, my lord,” Miss Grice said as if that summed up the entire matter. “You will, of course, want to provide her with a proper home.” She glanced around dubiously at her surroundings.

Matthias could read the woman’s thoughts as clearly as if she spoke aloud. Miss Grice was not at all certain that this household constituted a proper home.

Patricia ignored the fantastical room. She watched
Matthias with the sort of hope that only the young and the naive can successfully conjure. “Please, my lord. I throw myself on your mercy. I beseech you not to toss me out into the streets. Papa told me that you promised him you would give me a home if it became necessary.”

“Bloody hell,” Matthias said.

“T
here be a gentleman to see ye, Miss Waterstone.”

Imogen looked up quickly from the copy of the
Zamarian Review
she was reading. Mrs. Vine, the housekeeper, who also happened to be the landlord, hovered in the doorway of the drawing room. The gentleman she referred to must be Vanneck. The rumors must have reached him quickly, just as she had hoped. But now that the moment was upon her, she felt fear flash through her veins. She suddenly wished that Matthias were with her.

Nonsense, she told herself in the next instant. This was her scheme. She was in command and she was responsible for making it work properly. Matthias had warned her that he was not a man of action.

Slowly she put down the
Review
. “Send him in, Mrs. Vine. And then please inform my aunt that we have company.”

“Aye, madam.” Mrs. Vine was a tall, dour woman of indeterminate years. She nodded in a long-suffering fashion, as though the task of ushering a guest into the parlor was a great imposition.

It seemed to Imogen that Mrs. Vine’s position as both landlord and housekeeper gave her a distinctly skewed view of the proper relationship between herself and her tenants.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Imogen braced herself. This first encounter with Vanneck was critical to the success of her plans. She must keep her wits about her. Once again she thought wistfully of Matthias. He might not be the adventurous sort, but he was extremely clever. He would prove a useful ally in a situation such as this.

Mrs. Vine reappeared in the doorway, looking more put upon than ever. “Mr. Alastair Drake to see you, ma’am.”

“
Alastair
.” Imogen leaped to her feet so quickly that she knocked over her teacup. Fortunately the cup was empty. It bounced harmlessly on the carpet. “I was not expecting you,” she said as she stooped to pick up the cup. “Please, sit down.” She straightened quickly, set the cup back in the saucer, and summoned up a smile for the handsome man in the doorway. Old, wistful memories tumbled through her mind.

“Good day, Imogen.” A slow smile curved Alastair’s sensual mouth. “It’s been a long while, has it not?”

“Yes, it has.” She stared at him, searching for any changes the past three years had made.

If anything, Alastair was more attractive than she remembered. He was nearly thirty now, she realized. Experience had rendered his face more interesting. His light brown hair was cut short and crimped in the latest fashion. His blue eyes still held that beguiling expression that was a combination of little-boy-lost and man-of-the-world. Lucy had once told him it was his most charming quality.

Alastair sauntered into the room. “Sorry to surprise you. Were you anticipating a visit from someone more interesting perhaps? Colchester, for example? I hear that he fastened himself on to you last night at the Blunts’ ball.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Imogen gave him what she hoped was a bright, convincing smile. “I was startled to see you because my housekeeper did not mention the identity of my caller. Would you care for tea?”

“Thank you.” Alastair studied her from beneath his lashes. “I can well comprehend that after the unfortunate manner in which we parted three years ago, you have no reason to greet me with any warmth today.”

“Nonsense, sir. I am delighted to see you again.” Now that she had recovered from her initial shock, Imogen
was pleased to feel her pulse slow to a more normal rate.

Lucy had once remarked that Alastair was the good-natured older brother every woman wished she had. Imogen had never seen him as a brother, however. He had drifted into Lucy’s social sphere three years earlier when the pair had met at a meeting of the Zamarian Society. When Imogen had arrived in Town to visit, Lucy had introduced her to Alastair. The three of them had become inseparable.

Alastair had been welcome initially because he could be counted upon to serve as an escort. Vanneck was rarely available to take Lucy and Imogen about in the evenings. He preferred to spend his time at his club or with his mistress. Lucy had confided to Imogen that she was grateful that her husband spent his time with another woman. She had dreaded the nights that he came to her bedchamber.

More memories washed through Imogen. There was a time when she had thought that Alastair might be falling in love with her. He had kissed her as if she were made of fragile silk.

There had been only a handful of such embraces, most of them stolen in dark gardens or on shadowed terraces during the course of a soiree or ball. Imogen had quite enjoyed them. Alastair had not been as good at that sort of thing as Philippe D’Artois, her dancing instructor, but then, Philippe was French. Not that the comparison mattered now, she thought. The frail ghosts of the kisses she had received from both men had been well and truly incinerated a few days before in the blaze of Matthias’s fiery embrace.

Although she was unable to summon up more than the tattered remnants of the warm feelings she’d once had for Alastair, she could not help but note that he looked very fine. His coat and trousers were expertly cut and his cravat was folded in the stylish manner she thought she recognized as the Waterfall. His blue waistcoat complemented
his eyes. Alastair had always been in the first stare of fashion.

“I could scarcely believe my ears when I learned that you were in Town, Imogen.” Alastair took the cup and saucer from her. His eyes were eloquent. “It’s good to see you again, my dear. My God, how I have missed you.”

“Indeed.” Imogen had a sudden vivid recollection of the shock and outrage that had marked his face the night he had discovered her with Vanneck. Alastair had never given her a chance to explain. “I have certainly missed Lucy.”

“Ah, yes. Poor Lucy.” Alastair shook his head. “Such a sad situation. I often think about the wonderful times the three of us shared together.” He paused meaningfully. “But I must confess, my fondest memories are of you, Imogen.”

“Really?” She took a breath. “Then why did you never write, sir? I had rather hoped to hear from you after Lucy’s funeral. I thought that we were friends, at least.”

“Friends?” His voice abruptly hardened. “We were more than friends. I shall be perfectly honest with you, Imogen. After the incident, I could not bear to reopen the wounds.”

“Wounds? What wounds?”

“I was … hurt.” His mouth tightened. “Shattered, if you must know the truth. It took me a very long time to get over the sight of you in Vanneck’s arms.”

“I was not in his arms,” she said tartly. “I, oh, never mind. It’s all in the past now and it would no doubt be best to leave it there. May I ask why you chose to call upon me today?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Alastair put down his cup and rose. “I came to see you because when I learned you were in Town I realized that what I had once felt for you had not entirely died.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Alastair, please.” Imogen was so shaken by his declaration
that she could not think of a graceful way to retrieve her hand from his.

“There is something I must tell you. Something that has been plaguing me for three long years. I want you to know that I forgive you for what happened that dreadful night.”

“Forgive me?” She glowered at him. “Well, that is very kind of you, sir, but I assure you, I do not require your forgiveness.”

“You need not explain, my dear. It no longer matters. The whole world knows what sort of man Vanneck is. He took advantage of your innocence and naiveté. I myself was much younger in those days. I let Society’s opinions influence me.”

“Do not concern yourself.” Imogen braced her hands against his shoulders. “I comprehend perfectly well why you leaped to the conclusion that I was Vanneck’s paramour. Indeed, any gentleman in your position would have believed the worst.”

“I was so shocked that I could not think clearly. And by the time I came to my senses, it was too late. Lucy was dead. You were gone.”

“Yes, yes, I understand.” Imogen pushed against his shoulders.

“We are both older and wiser now, my dear. Mature adults who know the ways of the world.” He bent his head to kiss her.

Imogen ducked his searching mouth and shoved hard. “Pray, release me, sir.”

“Surely you have not forgotten how it was between us? Those warm embraces that we shared? Those intimate little chats about lost Zamar. Your eyes lit with such passion whenever you talked of Zamar, my dear.”

A large, dark shadow blotted out the light in the doorway. “Am I interrupting anything?” Matthias asked in a voice that could have frozen the fires of the second Zamarian hell.

“What the devil?” Alastair released Imogen and hurriedly stepped back. “
Colchester
.”

Imogen whirled around, flustered and breathless from the small tussle. “Do come in, my lord,” she said in a loud, firm tone. “Mr. Drake was just leaving.”

“What was Drake doing here?” Matthias asked much too softly as he lowered himself into the chair Alastair had just vacated.

“He’s an old acquaintance.” Imogen reached for the teapot. She was vastly relieved to have Alastair gone, but she was not certain that Matthias would prove to be a significant improvement. He did not appear to be in good spirits. “A friend from three years ago.”

“A close friend.” Matthias regarded her with a shuttered gaze.

“Of both Lucy and myself,” she said pointedly.

“I believe your aunt did mention him.”

“Vanneck could never be bothered to escort his wife to the theater or to soirees and parties, and Lucy did so love to attend such affairs.”

“Having acquired her, he ignored her, is that it?”

“I believe he would have locked her away in a storage chamber along with the rest of his collection if he could have managed such a thing. Lucy joined the Zamarian
Society in an effort to please him, but he ridiculed her interest. She met Alastair there, however.”

“And introduced him to you, I believe Mrs. Elibank said,” Matthias murmured.

“Yes. As I said, the three of us went about together. Alastair was very gallant. He was happy to serve as our escort.”

“I see.” Matthias took the cup and saucer into his elegant hands and leaned back in his chair. He stretched his legs out in front of him and contemplated Imogen with an unreadable gaze. “Pray, continue.”

She gazed at him blankly. “Continue with what?”

“With the rest of the tale.”

“There is nothing else of interest to relate, my lord. Last night Alastair learned that I was in Town for the Season. He paid a call on me just now to renew our acquaintance. That is all there is to it.”