Mischief (13 page)

“Imogen, it is true that I have spent most of the past few years in Zamar, and when I was in London I made it a practice to avoid what is amusingly termed Polite Society.” Matthias gave her a thin smile. “But I am not a complete idiot. When I walked in here just now you were in Drake’s arms. Therefore, I very cleverly deduce that there is more to your tale.”

“What of it? I told you, we are old friends.”

“I realize from what your aunt told me that you hold excessively liberal views on relations between the sexes. But I would have thought such an impassioned greeting went a bit too far, even for old friends. Having been obliged to witness the event, I feel I am entitled to an explanation.”

Imogen bristled. “My connection with Alastair need not concern you, my lord. It has no bearing on my scheme.”

“I disagree. If I am to assist you, I must be kept fully informed.”

“Calm yourself, my lord. I shall keep you apprised of everything you need to know.”

“You obviously have no conception of how complex this sort of thing can become,” Matthias said. “What if Drake takes a notion to involve himself in this situation?”

She stared at him in astonishment. “Why on earth would he do that?”

“He may decide that he would like to obtain the Queen’s Seal himself.”

Imogen gave a ladylike sniff. “Highly unlikely. I assure you, Alastair’s interest in Zamarian antiquities is superficial, at best. He is a fashionable dilettante, not a true scholar. He does not even collect artifacts. Alastair will not pose a problem in that regard.”

Matthias’s gaze narrowed. “Then perhaps he will conclude that having enjoyed an intimate connection with you three years ago, it would be pleasant to, shall we say, renew the association?”

“I do not intend to allow that to happen,” Imogen said grimly.

“Indeed?”

“What are you implying, Colchester?”

“That you had best do a more convincing job of discouraging Drake than the one I saw you doing a few minutes ago.”

“Why are you so very concerned with this subject?” Imogen demanded. “It is none of your affair, I assure you. I shall deal with Alastair.”

Matthias drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He looked as if he were searching for another approach to the subject. “Imogen, I must insist on complete honesty between us when it comes to any matter that touches on this damnable plan of yours.”

“It is not a damnable plan. It is a very clever scheme.”

“It is a crazed notion, and if I am to be a part of it, I will have honesty from you. You owe me that much in exchange for my assistance. There are risks involved in this thing. Serious risks.”

Comprehension dawned at last. Imogen heaved a disgruntled sigh and sank back into the corner of the sofa.
“So now we come to the heart of the matter. You are growing overanxious again.”

“One could say that.”

“No offense, my lord, but it is unfortunate that you are not a more daring sort.”

“I comfort myself with the knowledge that we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Perhaps I shall prove useful in the end.”

“Hmm.” She considered him from beneath half-lowered lids. There were times when she could not escape the nasty suspicion that Matthias found her amusing. “Very well, if it will settle your nerves, I shall tell you about my association with Alastair Drake.”

“I doubt that your explanation will have a soothing effect on my nerves, but I think I’d better hear it.”

“The long and the short of the matter is that Alastair was the gentleman who discovered Vanneck and me together in a bedchamber three years ago.”

“Your aunt already told me as much.”

“Then why the devil are you asking me all these silly questions?” Imogen snapped.

“I want to hear your version of the tale.”

Imogen glowered. “Alastair saw me in a compromising situation and assumed the worst. That is all there is to it.”

Matthias contemplated his teacup as though it were an interesting Zamarian relic. “A man may be forgiven certain assumptions when he discovers two people in bed together.”

“Bloody hell, I was not in bed with Vanneck,” Imogen exploded. “I was in the bedchamber with him. There is a difference, sir.”

Matthias glanced up from the teacup. “Is there?”

“Of course there is. It was all a terrible misunderstanding. Or so I thought at the time.” Imogen nibbled on her lower lip as more memories returned. “Then Lucy died. There was talk of a note she had written. People said she had taken her own life because her husband and best
friend had betrayed her. For a time everything was muddled.”

“No doubt.”

Imogen jumped to her feet, clasped her hands behind her back, and began to pace the parlor. “When I could think clearly again, it occurred to me that perhaps Vanneck had deliberately lured me to the bedchamber that night, knowing that we would be discovered.”

“So that when Lucy died, the rumors of betrayal and suicide would conceal the truth? It seems a bit farfetched, Imogen.”

“You must admit it has a certain logic. Vanneck is a very clever man. He would not have wanted anyone to cry murder. He wanted Lucy’s death to appear a suicide. That meant he had to supply a plausible reason for her to kill herself.”

“Why did you go to that bedchamber to meet him?” Matthias asked.

“I did not intend to meet him. I went there because I had received an urgent note asking me to go to the bedchamber.”

“Who sent the note?”

“Lucy. Or so I thought at the time. Now I believe that Vanneck himself wrote the note and signed her name. When I walked into the bedchamber, I found him there. He was—” Imogen broke off, blushing furiously.

“He was what?”

She cleared her throat. “He was partially undressed, if you must know. He had removed his shirt and boots and was in the process of taking off his breeches when I arrived.”

Matthias set the cup and saucer down with great precision. “I see.”

“Vanneck pretended to be as astonished to see me as I was to see him. I turned at once to leave the bedchamber, of course. But at that very moment Alastair and his friend came along the hallway. They passed the open door
of the bedchamber and saw Vanneck and me together inside.”

“And promptly dashed off to their club to inform their cronies that Vanneck had seduced you?” Matthias asked dryly.

“Alastair did no such thing.” Imogen glared at him. “He is a gentleman. But his companion was not so discreet. Naturally, Alastair did his best to protect my reputation.”

“Naturally.”

Imogen shot him a quick searching glance, uncertain of his tone. Was he mocking her again? She decided to ignore it. “But it was impossible to stop the gossip, especially after Lucy died.”

“Tell me, Imogen, did you explain the situation to Drake?”

Imogen paused in front of the window and gazed out into the street. “Alastair was distraught at the time. Quite overset by what he thought he had seen. He hurried off before I could tell him the truth. Later there was no opportunity to do so.”

“I see. Drake did not challenge Vanneck, then?”

Imogen flushed. “Of course not. A duel would have been out of the question. I would never have permitted such a thing.”

Matthias said nothing.

“Nor would it have done any good,” Imogen said quietly. “It is just as my parents said, the Polite World cares only about appearances, not about truth. Which is precisely why Vanneck found it so easy to deceive Society when he murdered Lucy. He gave them the appearance of suicide and they believed him.”

Matthias hesitated. “Perhaps it’s time to move on to more productive subjects.”

“By all means, sir.” Greatly relieved by that suggestion, Imogen swung away from the window and went briskly back to the sofa.

Horatia appeared in the doorway. She gazed in surprise
at Matthias. “What’s this? I did not realize we had guests. I really must have a talk with our housekeeper. She failed to inform me that anyone had arrived.”

“Imogen and I were just discussing her plans.” Matthias rose to greet Horatia.

“I see.” Horatia bustled into the room and gave her hand to Matthias. “This scheme of Imogen’s has made me exceedingly anxious.”

“I am relieved to know that I am not alone in my qualms.” Matthias slanted a laconic glance at Imogen. “Those of us who lack stalwart nerves must join forces.”

Imogen fixed both of them with a reproving look. “All will be well. I have everything under control.”

“One can only hope.” Matthias took his seat. “But as it happens, I have another problem on my hands.”

Imogen frowned. “What is that?”

“My half sister arrived on my doorstep last night. She announced that she has nowhere else to turn and must take up residence with me.”

Imogen blinked. “I did not know that you had a sister.”

Matthias’s eyes were devoid of expression. “My father remarried after my mother died. Patricia is his daughter by his second wife. To be blunt, I do not know what to do with her. She arrived with a companion, but the woman could not stay.”

“How old is Patricia?” Imogen asked.

“Nineteen.”

“Then she is of an age to enjoy the Season,” Horatia observed.

“How the blazes am I supposed to arrange for her to participate in the Season?” Matthias grumbled. “Firing a young lady off into the ton requires gowns, proper invitations, a chaperone, and God knows what else.”

“Put your mind at ease, Colchester,” Imogen said. “Aunt Horatia is an expert on social matters. We shall turn Patricia over to her.”

Horatia’s eyes widened slightly behind the lenses of her spectacles.

Matthias’s gaze slid from Imogen to Horatia and back again. His relief was obvious. “It is a great deal to ask.”

“Nonsense.” Imogen glanced at Horatia. “Well, Aunt? Are you game to guide a young lady through a Season?”

“It will be great fun,” Horatia said cheerfully. “Nothing I fancy more than ordering vast quantities of beautiful clothes and sending the bills to someone else.”

T
here was definitely much to be said for a female who was inclined to take charge, Matthias thought three days later as he walked into his club. In the blink of an eye Imogen had assumed command of the pressing problem of Patricia. With any luck he would get his sister married off this Season and thereby fulfill his promise to his father.

That promise had been made here in this very club, he reflected as he handed his hat and gloves to the elderly porter. Two years ago Thomas had cornered him in the coffee room. Perhaps he’d had some premonition of his own impending death, Matthias thought.

“I wish to speak with you,” Thomas had said as he sat down across from Matthias.

“Of course, sir.” Matthias was always careful to keep his tone cool and unfailingly polite whenever he spoke with his father. “Is something amiss?”

“I am concerned with the future.”

“Aren’t we all? Personally, I’ve discovered that it is best to ignore it.”

“I’ve noticed. Damnation, your irresponsible attitude does you no credit. You have created nothing but scandal since the day you came down from university.” Thomas propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepled his hands, and made an obvious effort to control his anger. “But as it happens, that is not what I wished to discuss
today. I seek to make provisions for Patricia in the event that anything should happen to me and my wife.”

“Solicitors generally handle that sort of thing, I believe.”

“I have already taken care of the financial side of matters. Patricia has been well provided for in my will. But her mother and I are concerned with her happiness.”

“Ah, yes. Happiness.”

Thomas frowned. “That is something that is not so easy to provide.”

“I have noticed that, sir.”

Thomas’s mouth compressed into a thin line. “Should anything happen to Charlotte and me, arrangements have been made for Patricia to live in the home of relatives on Charlotte’s side of the family.”

“So?”

Thomas met his eyes. “If that arrangement does not work out for any reason, I want your word that you will take care of Patricia.”

Matthias stilled. “What are you asking me to do?”

“Your duty.” Thomas wearily closed his eyes and then opened them to pin Matthias. “God knows, you have mocked your responsibilities as my heir for your entire adult life, but you will not avoid this one. Patricia is your sister. You will take care of her should anything happen to me. Is that understood? I want your oath on this.”

“What makes you think that you can rely upon me to keep such a promise?”

“You disgraced your heritage when you established that damned gaming hell. You went off in search of ancient Zamar instead of contracting a good marriage and giving me a grandson to ensure the title. Some suspect that you were responsible for Rutledge’s death. There is talk that you killed a man in a duel over a married woman.” Thomas bunched his hands into fists on the arms of the chair. “But it is said that you have never broken a promise. I want your promise on this.”

Matthias contemplated him for a moment. “I know
how difficult this must have been for you, sir. You must love Patricia very much.”

“She and her mother are the light of my life.”

“And every time you look at me, you can see only the darkness that your marriage to my mother brought you,” Matthias concluded softly.

Thomas stiffened. His eyes went to the icy streak in Matthias’s black hair, a mirror image of the one that marked him. “God help me, every time I look at you, I see my son and heir.”

Matthias smiled humorlessly. “How very unpleasant that must be for you, sir.”

“You have done nothing to make it pleasant, damn your eyes.” The anger in Thomas faded into a bleak weariness. “You will not believe this after all that has passed between us, but I regret that you and I did not spend more time together when you were younger. Perhaps I could have instilled a stronger sense of duty in you.”

Matthias said nothing.

Thomas watched him with palpable intensity. “Do I have your word that you will look after Patricia if anything happens to me?”

“Yes.” Matthias picked up the paper he had been reading.

Thomas frowned. “Is that all you have to say?”