Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet (13 page)

“Before my Grand Tour, Miss Aldridge, nearly six years ago.”

Bran noticed immediately how his sister’s body stiffened when Velvet announced Levering as her rescuer. Instead of being relieved first by surviving the incident and secondly to know her savior, Ella physically fought for emotional control. Bran recognized how fear gripped her, and he took a protective step towards her. Ella turned, a forced smile on her lips. “Sir Louis, how do I express my appreciation? You came at just the right moment, and to consider the irony of our former acquaintance.”

“I am certain His Grace would have done as well. Your brother was only seconds behind.” The man’s face showed nothing but concern for Eleanor’s safety, but Bran heard the insinuation hidden in his tone. Something was not right; he did not even know this man, but Levering delivered a back door insult.

Needing to assess the true situation, Bran plastered on his own fake smile and said, “You must permit us, Levering, to offer you our hospitality at Briar House. As you are already familiar with my family, it will be a
homecoming
of sort.”

Before Levering could accept, Worthing rode up. Dusty and bleeding from behind his ear, he slipped from the saddle and caught Ella up in his arms, a pronounced break with propriety. “Thank God, His Grace reached you in time.” Levering’s obvious frown spoke volumes to an interested third party, namely Brantley Fowler.

Ella judiciously backed out of Kerrington’s embrace, but she remained close to him. Bran realized how she sought Worthing’s protection. He needed to find out why Eleanor feared Sir Louis Levering. Instinctively, he knew it had something to do with their late father, and the thought of how Ella could have suffered at the Duke’s hands enflamed him.

Ella, seeing the trickle of blood coming from Worthing’s wound stifled a gasp before pressing her handkerchief to his head. “Actually,” she told Kerrington, a flush of color covering her countenance, “Sir Louis reached me before Brantley.”

Turning decidedly, Kerrington offered the man a painful bow. “As I am certain His Grace has done, I offer my thanks for Lady Eleanor’s protection.”

“Sir Louis is one of our neighbors’ sons,” Velvet explained, totally oblivious to the drama playing out before her. “The Leverings assumed possession of the Huntingborne Abbey several years ago. I believe it has been a little over two years since you inherited with your dear father’s passing. Is that not correct, Sir?”

“I could not have said it better, Miss Aldridge. You are a purveyor of the latest news in our little section of the world.” Again, the man’s tone said nothing, but his words came close to impertinence, and both Bran and Worthing reacted to the implied insult with a shift in their own bearings.

“Viscount Worthing,” Bran purposely used his best friend’s second title as an earl’s son, “may I present Sir Louis Levering. Levering, the Honorable Lord Worthing.”

Bran’s purposely let Levering know his “social” place, and he noted Worthing’s amusement at the ploy. They had fought together under the worst of conditions, and Kerrington would need no translation of the unspoken words:
I dislike Levering as much as you do, old Friend.
However, good breeding on both their parts had allowed Bran to take the high road and had permitted Worthing to return the obligatory bow.

“If you will excuse me, Your Grace, now that we know everyone is safe, I have appointments to which to attend.” Their combined disdain affected Levering–much to Bran’s pleasure.

Bran simply nodded. “Of course, Sir Louis. Thank you again for your efforts.” He came close to saying
for your interference
.

Boldly, Levering stepped forward and took Velvet’s hand and brought it to his lips for the traditional air kiss, and then he turned his full attention on Ella. Instead of a kiss several inches above her knuckles, Sir Louis brought Ella’s hand to his mouth and held it there for several seconds before releasing it. “Lady Eleanor, may I call in the next few days to assure myself that you did not suffer from this episode?” Bran noted how Kerrington’s hands fisted at his side when the man took Ella’s fingers in his. Bran knew the feeling. He gritted his teeth when the “slimy” Sir Louis touched
his Velvet
, but the bounder turned his real attention on Eleanor. Bran wanted to jerk him away from Ella and pound him in the ground. It was an irrational reaction after Levering’s recent heroics, but something about Sir Louis brought those responses.

“Of course, Sir Louis.” Ella discreetly withdrew her hand. Both Bran and James watched the interplay carefully.

Looking about him and bidding the group a collective farewell, Levering strode to his horse, mounted, and rode away.

“Let us see you home.” Ella immediately became concerned about Worthing’s arm.

“I will find my own way,” Worthing began, but a collective “No” from the Fowler party told him not to do the gallant thing. Bran leaned in to say, “We must talk. Let my sister tend you. It will help her deal with this.” Worthing nodded and mounted his horse.

Bran prepared to lift Velvet to her saddle. “We will ride with Ella to Worthing Hall. She feels a need to tend to Lord Worthing, and I wish to know exactly what happened.”

“Was it not an accident?” She seemed confused.

Bran caught her slim waist and easily placed her in the saddle. As he positioned the stirrups for her feet, he spoke softly. “It does not appear so.” Velvet started to react, but a direct stare from Bran silenced her immediately. “Ride beside me when we leave the park. I need to know you are safe.”

The stare softened. She saw the anguish of the last few minutes cross his face, and all her earlier anger fled. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Ella stood beside her mare, the horse now lazily nibbling on a nearby bush. She held the reins and patted the animal’s neck, assuring no repeat of a few moments ago. Before he placed her in the sidesaddle, Bran checked the animal’s front hoof. “Worthing says the bullet landed close to your mount’s foot.”

If she did not stand beside him, Ella might not have heard–he spoke so softly. “Is Lord Worthing able to ride?”

Bran smiled at her words. His sister’s attachment to Kerrington grew. “His Lordship probably has more than his fair share of cuts and bruises, but I have seen him in worst shape.” Bran lowered the horse’s leg and turned to lift his sister to the saddle. “Can you handle her?” He indicated the horse. Ella’s frown told him she resented his words, which is what he expected when he spoke them.

“Do you doubt me, Brantley?”

“The man who doubts your ability to ride a horse–to play chess–to run an estate–to survive–that man would be a complete fool. People over the years have called me many names, but ‘fool’ has never been one of them. Doubting Eleanor Fowler? Never!”

Chapter 7

When Kerrington and the Fowlers entered Worthing Hall fifteen minutes later, His Lordship’s staff snapped into a quick response. Ella, used to commanding her own household, demanded bandages and oil of chamomile be brought at once, while Worthing tried to order tea and refreshments. Ultimately, Ella won out, and Bran found it mildly amusing to watch his former “captain” resign himself to her ministrations on his behalf. Cutting away his shirtsleeve, Ella tended the torn flesh of his upper arm and the cut behind his ear, before addressing a bruise along his temple. A little later, once the servants had withdrawn, having finally brought the service for which Kerrington had asked, Bran turned to his friend. “What did you see today?”

Ella did not appear surprised by Bran’s question, but Velvet, all at once, felt the apprehensions of the others. “I...do not understand, Bran,” she stammered.

Bran’s frustration returned. Not being able to control everything in his grasp took its toll on his reserves. “You earlier declared at the top of your lungs that we should stop protecting you, Cousin,” his distress unhidden. “Then use your pretty head for something besides fairy tales. You heard the shots; I saw your body react to it. That was the third time in less than a month; even you must understand this was not a coincidence.” Velvet’s eyes grew in size with his accusation, but she remained silent. Bran turned back to his friend. “Now, Worthing, what happened?

“A man shot at your sister and me from the tree line. I saw him at the last second so I had no way of warning Lady Eleanor.”

“Therefore, you jumped in front of me?” Ella’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“You understand, Lady Eleanor, that I could do nothing less.” Their eyes rested on each other for several raxed seconds before the viscount continued. “When I remounted, I saw His Grace closing on where you fought with the mare so I gave chase to the gunman.”

“From the looks of your clothes, I assume you found him,” Bran observed.

“I managed to wrestle the man to the ground, but an accomplice pulled a gun on me. They escaped in a small black coach with a red stripe across the back where the luggage might be strapped to the carriage.”

Bran filed the information away for later use. “Did you recognize either of them?”

“The accomplice wore a makeshift mask made from his cravat, but he had an unusual shade of eyes–nearly a black brown–his hair a chocolate color–and he spoke only French.”

“And the gunman?” Bran prompted.

“I observed him when I escorted your family to the Royal Academy. I had hoped I was wrong, and his interest in the same exhibits as us was purely coincidental; but that is why I noticed him today. When I noted him at the gallery, I thought
swarthy
–dark complected, sable hair and eyes.”

“A Baloch?” Bran made the necessary connections.

Worthing considered his response. “Quite likely–at least, in appearance.”

Bran pondered his next assumption. “Then one of us is the target, and through us, our families.”

“If one of us is the target, then why did the gunman simply strike me down? Why not, at least, take me prisoner? And the Frenchman, his accent was more British, and he used only basic French.”

“None of it makes any sense.” Bran strode to the window and glanced outside, looking for another possibility.

Ella ventured, “Maybe we should return to Thorn Hall until everything is safe.”

“Attacks came at Thorn Hall also,” Bran reasoned.

“What if someone is hurt next time?” Velvet now understood some of what had occurred.

Bran assured them, “We have contacts working on this, and we have some ideas.”

“Who are
we
exactly?” Ella required.

Bran caught Worthing’s eye before continuing. “The men with whom I served during my private service: Lord Worthing, of course: the Marquis; Carter Lowery, second son of Baron Blakehell; Baron Swenton; Marcus Wellston, third son of the Earl of Berwick; and Viscount Lexford. All have been alerted to the possibility that someone seeks revenge for our previous life.”

“But why now?” Ella’s quick mind had already accepted her brother’s assumptions and had moved on to the matter’s crux. Velvet, on the other hand, appeared more confused than ever. Her mouth twisted in a tight line. “It has been five years since your service.”

Kerrington answered, “We are coming into our estates or, as with Lowery, our positions in government. Our names and wealth are more well known.”

“So no matter what–all seven of you could be targets?” Ella surmised.

“Exactly, my Lady,” Worthing summarized.

Her words and Worthing’s answer sent a shiver down Velvet’s back. This was no game; it was serious. She knew little of Bran’s former life other than he was some sort of mercenary. Ella, obviously, knew more than she had ever shared with Velvet. They would have a private talk later. Impulsively, Velvet moved up beside Bran and slipped her hand into his. With relief, she felt him squeeze it.

Bran knew any other information would have to wait until he and the viscount could speak privately. “I shall escort my family home, Worthing. We have experienced enough excitement for one day.”

“Thank you, Lord Worthing,” Ella joined him as they prepared to leave.

Worthing followed her to his feet. “I should be thanking you, Lady Eleanor, for tending to my wounds.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. “Hopefully, next time, our ride will be less eventful.”

They bid Worthing farewell at the door and turned to the animals. Suddenly, Ella grasped Bran’s hand to secure his attention. “I left my gloves in Lord Worthing’s drawing room; I shall return momentarily. Help Velvet up. I will only be a moment.”

Before he could object or send a footman instead, Ella quickly scurried up the steps and tapped on the door. The butler opened it immediately. Dutifully, Bran turned to the woman he loved. Placing his hands at her waist, he leaned in close, effectively pining her between him and the horse. “I apologize for being so short tempered,” he whispered. “You did not deserve my censure.”

Velvet felt the heat of him up and down her body. One moment she wanted to rant at him for his foolishness, and the next she wanted to fall into his arms. “It is I who should apologize, Your Grace. I have refrained from being privy to your and Ella’s affairs. But now it appears that in my efforts to permit both of you privacy, I have failed to recognize some very pertinent facts about the life you led all those years you were away from us. I can see there is more to learn than I had anticipated. If you would consider taking me into your confidences, I would prove a worthy friend to you.”

“I do not wish to put you into more danger than you may already be.” Bran looked very contrite; he truly did not want to hurt her.

Velvet bit her bottom lip, showing her own indecision. “It pains me to not be a part of your life, Bran. To not be thought trustworthy enough to understand.”

“Velvet...” he began. “I never...”

What he never, would not be said this day? Ella came flying out of the house, flustered and flushed. “I am ready,” she barked as the footman assisted her to her seat.

Reluctantly, Bran did the same for Velvet. Riding the mile to Briar House, all he could think of was whether he could trust Velvet with his most important secret: Ashmita’s child.

*

“You will not, at least, thank me for saving your life?”

“Thank you?” the dark-skinned man exclaimed. “I should plant you a facer! I followed Worthing and the women yesterday. It was all planned. I would take one of the women and use her in exchange for the emerald. But before I could act, you fools shoot at them again, placing them more on guard. You are not even a good shot; you missed completely. If Worthing did not leap to save Fowler’s sister, you would not have hit anything.”

The Englishman disliked the foreigner, but he hid it well. He wanted his share of the prize the tawny-complected man had offered. “We did not know you planned your own attack. We simply wanted to create a situation where Thornhill might require a new ally. I thought you were to keep us informed.”

“I report to no one,” the intruder protested. “My orders allow me the freedom to make my own plans.”

The Brit looked away in annoyance. “Then do not blame us if your plans cross with my friend’s.”

*

“Aunt Ella!” Sonali burst through the sitting room door, but seeing only Velvet she halted abruptly.

Velvet looked up from her embroidery. “I believe Eleanor is with Aunt Agatha.”

Sonali buried the toe of her shoe in the carpeting. She held out a rag doll. “Isana’s arm is loose.” Tears formed in the child’s eyes.

Velvet sat her embroidery to the side. “Bring her here. Let me see if I may be of assistance.”

Sonali moved tentatively forward to where she stood before Velvet. They had come to a truce of sorts the night Velvet had tucked the child in with tales of knights and princesses. “Can you repair the tear?” She laid the worn doll in Velvet’s lap.

Velvet picked up the toy and the torn arm, cautiously judging the best way to rejoin the pieces. The doll was more than unusual by British standards. The porcelain face held a small crescent moon painted on the forehead between the eyebrows, along with a blue throat and a wound braid of matted hair. It had both a tiger skin and a snake skin patterned cloth for its dress. Velvet’s eyebrow rose with curiosity. “I think so, but I must add another piece of material. The arms will no longer match. Is that acceptable?”

“Mama made Isana for me.” Sonali’s bottom lip trembled slightly.

“Well then, we must make the repair immediately.” Velvet smiled to allay the child’s fears. “Hand me my sewing basket, and let me see what I have that we can utilize.” She gestured to the basket tucked under a low table. The child scrambled to do her biding. Velvet rummaged through the material scraps she kept in the basket. Choosing a dark brown muslin and appropriate thread, she took up the task. The child sprawled on the floor at her feet, watching Velvet’s every move.

Since the revelation of Bran’s secret work following this morning’s ride, Velvet had considered how stupid she had been to accept everything at face value. She had planned to ask Ella what she knew, but why not ask others? “What do you remember of your mother?” she asked the child.

“Mama died after I was born. Papa says she was sick for a long time.” The girl rose on her knees to inspect the work before sinking down again.

Velvet took a close look at the child’s long, straight hair. Although Sonali’s complexion retained her Indian heritage, she and Bran’s daughter shared the same hair color. “I do not see much of Bran in you. You must look very much like your mother.” She wanted the child to tell her anything; she really knew nothing of Bran’s former life.

“Papa says I am a mina...a mina...” she frowned.

“A miniature,” Velvet supplied the word.

Sonali nodded. “Of Mama. He says after Mama died he could not stand to see people who looked so much like her so we left Bombay.” The girl traced the carpet’s floral pattern with her finger.

“Where did you go from there? I mean if His Grace did not want to stay in India any longer?” Velvet kept her tone nonchalant.

The child frowned dramatically, but she finally said, “We lived in Brittany for a long time, but Papa wanted to return to England. He has business here.”

“I have only lived in Kent and here. You are a very lucky child to see other places.” Velvet watched Sonali from her eye’s corner. “Did you like Brittany?”

“It was colder. We had snow and made snow men.”

“We have snow in Kent sometimes.” Velvet added. “What else did you and your Papa do in Brittany?”

“Papa worked more. Sometimes he was gone for days.”

Velvet’s voice rose with curiosity. “For days? Your Papa was gone for days? Did Mrs. Carruthers tend you then?”

Sonali was on her knees again, watching Velvet’s needle pierce the material. “No. Sometimes Papa left with Uncle James or Uncle Marcus. Sometimes Uncle Aidan. One of Papa’s friends stayed with me. I have many
uncles
.”

“Was that fun for you?”

“Papa’s friends treated me like the princess in your story. They let me do things even Papa would not.”

“I see.” Velvet did not really
see
, but she found it all very interesting. Evidently, Bran’s friends knew some of his secrets. If she followed through with her plan to make him jealous with Lord Godown, she might also reap the benefit of learning more of Bran’s wife. She threaded the needle again to make a second row of stitches. “How long were you in Cornwall?”

“I was four when Papa quit working, and we moved to Cornwall. He still worked, but he did not go away anymore, and Mrs. Carruthers came to live with us.”

Velvet did not want to ask, but she had to know if Bran had kept a live-in lover or if he gave his attentions to someone regularly while he lived in Cornwall. “Just you and your Papa and Mrs. Carruthers? No one else lived with you or came regularly to stay with you?”

“Papa sometimes had guests.”

Velvet felt her stomach clench. “Other women guests or men guests?” Jealousy made her act irrationally in questioning a child about her father.