Mischief (28 page)

Matthias did not refold his newspaper until Alastair left the coffee room. When he sensed that he was alone again in front of the fire, he tossed the paper onto a side table. He propped his elbows on the arms of his chair, linked his fingers, and looked deep into the dancing flames.

Imogen had given him a promise of love, but Matthias knew that he could not depend upon it too heavily. After all, he had more or less blackmailed her into marriage at a moment when she had been terrified for his life.
He had been out in the world for a long time. He knew very well that intense emotions had a way of encouraging people to make all sorts of wild, reckless declarations. If, or perhaps he should say,
when
Imogen discovered the truth about him, she might turn against him.

He gazed into the depths of the fire and saw the old ghosts grinning at him with their skeletal mouths. They knew just how precarious his newfound happiness was, how easily it could be destroyed. And when it all came crashing down around him, when he was forced to retreat back into the shadows, they would be waiting for him.

He clenched one hand into a fist on the arm of the chair. There was still passion, he told himself. And there was still Zamar. Perhaps they would prove to be enough.

Perhaps not.

He was still staring into the heart of the blaze a long while later when Fairfax hailed him from across the room.

“Colchester. Thought I might find you here.” Fairfax’s perpetually cheerful expression was tinged with a line or two of concern. He moved to stand in front of the fire. “I say, anything wrong?”

“No.” Matthias glanced up at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Had an odd expression on your face, that’s all.” Fairfax warmed his hands at the hearth. “Never mind. Came to tell you that there are rumors all over Town about Vanneck’s death.”

“Save your breath. I’ve already heard them. They’ll fade quickly enough.”

Fairfax cleared his throat. “That might well be true. Under normal circumstances.”

“What makes the present circumstances anything other than normal?”

“The new Lady Colchester,” Fairfax said succinctly. He leaned down and lowered his voice even though there was no one nearby. “Don’t mean to tell you how to conduct your personal affairs, but have you considered how she will react if she hears this particular tale?”

A very belated light dawned in Matthias’s brain. He’d cautioned Imogen not to admit to anyone that she had even heard the rumor of a dawn appointment, let alone that she had accompanied him to Cabot’s Farm. But he had not specifically told her how to react if she overheard others discussing the rumors of the duel.

The problem with Imogen was that one had to be extremely specific in one’s instructions. She had a way of going off on unexpected tangents.

Matthias clamped his hands around the arms of his chair and shoved himself to his feet. “Excuse me, Fairfax. I’ve got to go home. I want to have a talk with my wife.”

“I fear it’s a bit too late for a husbandly chat over breakfast.”

“What are you talking about?”

Fairfax’s grimace was both sympathetic and amused. “I stopped by your town house before I came here. Your man Ufton said something about Lady Colchester having just set off on a shopping expedition.”

“Good God.” The horrendous possibilities loomed before Matthias, leaving him momentarily transfixed.

“One can only hope that the gossip has not yet reached the ladies of the ton.” Fairfax took out his watch and glanced at the time. “They will be descending upon Oxford Street and Pall Mall even as we speak.”

“Not reached the ladies? Are you mad?” Matthias strode toward the door. “The rumors will have reached them along with their morning chocolate.”

“I
was so worried when I realized that Matthias had left the house before anyone had arisen,” Patricia confided as she walked beside Imogen. “I was certain that he would be killed. I vow, I shall have nightmares about this entire affair for weeks.”

“Nonsense. It is over and done and the less said the better.” The morning’s events had established a tentative new bond between Patricia and herself, Imogen realized.
It was not surprising, she thought. After all, they both cared about Matthias. “Remember what Colchester said. We are to act as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.”

“I understand. But I still do not comprehend why you were with him when he returned. And why on earth were you dressed as a stable lad?”

“I went along to make certain that the duel did not take place, of course,” Imogen explained. “I could not allow Colchester to risk his neck because of me.”

“But what did you think you could possibly do to halt the affair?”

“I had formulated any number of plans,” Imogen assured her. “But as it happened, I was not obliged to employ any of them.”

“Only because Vanneck got himself shot by a highwayman or a footpad.” Patricia shuddered. “What a bizarre thing.”

“Very bizarre. But I for one will not mourn him.”

“Imogen?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” Patricia whispered.

Oxford Street was a lively scene. It was nearly noon, prime time for the serious business of shopping. Elegantly dressed ladies paraded from one window to the next in search of the latest fashions. They were followed by maids and footmen burdened with packages and parcels.

“Lady Colchester.” A middle-aged woman dressed in an expensive gown and a fashionable bonnet gave Imogen a cool smile. Her beady eyes were filled with avid speculation. “Congratulations on your recent marriage, madam. I saw the notice in the morning papers.”

“Thank you, Lady Benson.” Imogen made to move off down the street.

“I also heard that there has been a most unusual occurrence regarding a mutual acquaintance,” Lady Benson continued quickly. “Lord Vanneck was found shot to
death this very day. Quite early in the morning, I believe. Have you heard?”

“Sorry. Don’t know a thing about it. I’m afraid I don’t have time to chat. You must excuse us, Lady Benson.” Imogen urged Patricia toward the nearest shop door. “We have an appointment with … uh.” She glanced at the small wooden sign overhead. “With Madame Maud. Excellent modiste, you know. I trust I shall see you this evening.”

“Of course.” Lady Benson’s eyes narrowed. “You and Colchester will definitely be the main attraction at the best parties tonight. Perhaps we shall be able to talk later.”

“Perhaps.” Imogen whisked Patricia through the door of the dressmaker’s shop. She was relieved to see that there were no customers in the front of the small establishment.

“We don’t have an appointment with Madame Maud,” Patricia whispered.

“I am aware of that.” Imogen whirled to peer out the window. “But I did not want to get into an extended discussion with Lady Benson. She is a notorious gossip. Just the sort Colchester frets about.”

“Yes, I know,” Patricia said in a very low voice. “Lady Lyndhurst has mentioned her. Imogen, where is the proprietor of this shop? There is no one here.”

“Madame Maud is no doubt in the fitting room with a client.” Imogen breathed a sigh of relief as Lady Benson walked off down the street. “Good. She’s gone. We can go on to the glovemaker’s. Let’s be on our way. I want to stop at the bookshop before we go home.”

At that moment a woman’s voice rose shrilly from the back room. “Never say that Colchester murdered Vanneck in cold blood, Theodosia. I do not believe it.”

“They do not call him Cold-blooded Colchester for nothing, Emily,” Theodosia retorted in a tone of morbid excitement. “Personally, I am only too well aware of the fact that he is perfectly capable of killing a man. Lord
Vanneck was one of many. There was my dear Jonathan. And you must have heard the rumors about Rutledge’s mysterious death.”

“Well, yes, of course I have. The Rutledge Curse and all. But, Theo, Jonathan Exelby was killed years ago. And Rutledge died in far-off Zamar. This affair with Vanneck occurred this very morning on the outskirts of the city.”

“I know Colchester’s true nature better than anyone, and I can assure you that … 
ouch
. Do be careful with those pins, Maud. You stuck me.”

“Pardon, madam,” the modiste mumbled.

“Colchester is said to be an excellent shot,” Emily observed thoughtfully. “Why would he kill Vanneck before the duel? Why not simply wait and shoot him in front of the proper witnesses?”

“Who knows? Perhaps there was a quarrel before the seconds arrived,” Theodosia said. “One thing is certain, Colchester will never go to the gallows for his crimes. He is devious and far too clever.”

“And he is an earl,” Emily noted pragmatically. “Speaking of devious, I wonder what deep game he is playing with Immodest Imogen. The engagement made some sense. Everyone knows he would stop at nothing in order to get his hands on a valuable Zamarian artifact. But marriage?”

“A marriage need not last forever,” Theodosia said grimly. “It is not all that difficult to murder a wife.”

It was too much. A white-hot rage boiled up within Imogen. “How dare they talk about him in such a fashion?”

Patricia glanced uneasily at the curtain that separated the fitting room from the front area of the shop. “Perhaps we should leave.”

“Not until I have had a few words with Theodosia Slott.” Imogen rounded the counter and stalked toward the fitting room.

Patricia hurried after her. “Imogen, wait. I’m not sure
my brother would approve. You know very well that he warned us not to speak of this affair.”

“I have been pushed too far.” Imogen grasped the heavy curtain and jerked it aside. Three startled gasps greeted her.

Theodosia stood in front of a mirror. Her friend Emily sat on a chair, watching, as Theodosia was fitted for a new ball gown.

Madame Maud, looking extremely harried, knelt on the floor to mark the hem of her client’s gown.

“A moment,
s’il vous plaît
, madam,” the modiste said around a mouthful of pins.

“There is no rush.” Imogen met Theodosia’s startled gaze in the mirror. “I merely wished to correct Mrs. Slott. She is putting about false information.”

“Miss Waterstone.” Theodosia’s mouth opened and closed in dismay. “I mean, Lady Colchester. I did not hear you come in.”

“Obviously,” Imogen snapped. “You were too busy spreading lies and falsehoods about my husband.”

Patricia plucked at Imogen’s sleeve. “I think we should leave.”

Imogen ignored her. She turned to Theodosia’s companion. “Good day to you, Mrs. Hartwell.”

“Good day, Miss … er, Lady Colchester.” Emily Hartwell offered a weak smile. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you.” Imogen pinned Theodosia again in the mirror. “Now, about those lies concerning Colchester.”

“They are not lies.” Theodosia had recovered from her initial shock. She raised a defiant chin. “No one will ever prove a thing, but anyone acquainted with Colchester’s character knows that it is very likely he shot poor Vanneck before the duel could be properly conducted.”

“That is absolute nonsense, Mrs. Slott,” Imogen said. “As it happens, there were witnesses to the entire affair,
and they will be delighted to testify to my husband’s innocence should it become necessary.”

Emily gasped. Her hand went to her throat. “I had not realized that there were witnesses.”

“Imogen, please, we must be off.” Patricia sounded frantic. “Appointments, you know.”

“In a moment, Patricia.” Imogen glared at Theodosia. “It will not be necessary for anyone to testify concerning Colchester’s innocence because the notion that he might be guilty is utterly ludicrous.”

“Do not be too certain of that, Lady Colchester,” Theodosia retorted. “The whole world knows that your husband has a very dangerous reputation.”

Emily was horrified. “Theodosia, please, what are you saying? Colchester will be furious if he hears that you are accusing him of murder. You must be careful.”

“Yes, Mrs. Slott,” Imogen said smoothly, “I would advise you to be extremely cautious in your accusation.”

Theodosia blinked several times. A hint of uncertainty replaced some of the righteous indignation in her eyes. She cast a quick, uneasy glance at her companion. “I am not making any accusations. I am merely commenting on the obvious.”

“Indeed?” Imogen set her hands on her hips and tapped one toe. “I fail to see anything obvious except, of course, that you had as much reason to shoot Lord Vanneck as anyone else. And more cause than most.”

“
What?
” Theodosia’s mouth fell open in scandalized outrage.

“You cannot be serious.” Emily stared at Imogen, horrified.

The modiste froze, her mouth still full of pins.

“Imogen,” Patricia whispered desperately. “Please. We must go.”

Before anyone could move, a familiar voice spoke from the front room of the shop.

“Do go on, Lady Colchester,” Selena murmured as
she glided into the fitting room. “I cannot wait to learn why Theodosia killed Vanneck before the duel.”

“Lady Lyndhurst.” The modiste was becoming frantic. “A moment.”

Everyone in the small room turned to look at Selena.

“I did not kill anyone,” Theodosia wailed.

Imogen scowled. “I did not say that Theodosia shot Vanneck. I merely pointed out that she had as much reason as any number of people. Given that fact, she ought to be careful when it comes to making accusations.”

“I never said that Colchester murdered Vanneck,” Theodosia cried. “I said he
may
have done so. That’s all.”

Selena smiled faintly at Imogen. “Why would Theodosia shoot him just before the duel?”

“To make it appear that Colchester had murdered him in cold blood,” Imogen said calmly.

Theodosia’s face worked in desperate rage. “But why would I do such a thing?”

Imogen pursed her lips and considered the question. “Perhaps because you hoped that the ensuing gossip would drive Colchester from London.”

“What do you mean?” Theodosia demanded.

“It is somewhat awkward for you to have him hanging about, is it not, Theodosia? After all, every time he appears in Society, there is the risk that he will let the truth be known.”

Selena’s brows rose. “What truth would that be, Imogen?”