Rogue in Red Velvet (23 page)

“I’m glad to hear it. We must ensure that nothing gets in the way of your laudable ambition. Your father will be pleased.”

“I’m not doing it to please my damned father.” But yes, the old man would be pleased. Up to a point. Connie was older than he would have liked but he’d have to live with it.

They turned into the next street and confronted a group of boys having a loud dispute that would undoubtedly end in a fight. And, no doubt, copious picking of pockets. They elected to cross the road, tossing the sweeper a coin when he’d done his duty and cleared the inevitable horse manure out of their way.

This side of the road was relatively clear. Until a man stepped in front of them, deliberately blocking their path. Another stood behind them, preventing people from walking in front of him. And damn him to hell and back, he was the man who passed them earlier, the one with the sword.

Alex bowed to the inevitable. They wanted to cause trouble.

“Your purses, gentlemen.” The ruffian stood full-square, one hand in the pocket of a ragged rust-colored coat, the other on the hilt of his sword.

Julius raised a brow. “You jest,” he suggested mildly. “You have steel, Alex?”

Only his small sword and a knife in his pocket but they would serve. Unfortunately two more men stepped up, one before, one behind, both armed, their attention fixed on their targets.

Alex’s blood rose to the challenge and he forced back a grin. He’d wanted to fight somebody for some time now and since Dankworth was as yet out of his reach, these vagabonds would do. “Your preference, Winterton?” He kept his tones low and silky.

“I’ll go fore, you aft.”

Alex raised his voice. “You want more than our purses, I think.”

“We have a message,” the one in front said, his country burr evident against the harsher accents of the London native. “We’re warning you to leave the business of Mr. Dankworth alone.”

“I think not,” Julius said. He sighed theatrically, his shoulders moving up and down again. Alex had seen that move before. He was loosening his muscles in preparation for the fight. “You’re not going to listen, are you? Your sort rarely do.”

The man’s lip curled. “Our sort?”

“The sort that prefers violence to words. As if that ever cured anything.”

The man tipped his cocked hat and laughed. “It’s an answer. And against niminy-piminy little bastard lords like you, it usually works.”

“You must tell me if you meet any.” With a smooth metallic slide, Alex drew his sword. It was a pretty weapon but made of strong, flexible Spanish steel, so useful too. The gems in the hilt glittered coldly in the sunshine. He heard the scrape as Julius followed suit with his own weapon. No doubt, his sword was prettier but it would be just as deadly.

Their opponents grinned, a ghastly sight, blackened and missing teeth decorating their mouths. When they moved, they brought the odor of the rookeries with them. Never pleasant. No night soil men ever ventured into Seven Dials.

One lifted a sabre and the other had a pistol.

Alex disarmed the man with the pistol first, taking him with a lightning slash across his wrist that made his opponent curse and draw back. Alex kicked the weapon away and ducked, narrowly avoiding the sabre sweep from the other man. From the clash of steel and the pained yells, he guessed Julius was dispatching his opponents but he didn’t pause to look.

The man with the sabre had expected to chop the thinner blade of Alex’s small sword in half but Alex slid his blade down the sabre in a deadly glissando and closed in on his man, enough to bring his knee up. It found satisfying contact with soft flesh, hopefully the bottom of the man’s ball sack.

They weren’t fighting amateurs. The second man was already back on his feet and came at Alex swinging his sabre expertly, the weapon gleaming dully in the spring sunshine. Alex waited until the man had put enough power behind his blade to commit himself then used his foot again but this time as a feint.

The man dodged aside to avoid it and found Alex waiting, his blade already heading for its mark. All Alex had needed was a moment’s inattention and he’d won. He pierced the bully’s shoulder and withdrew immediately, blood welling satisfactorily over the man’s grubby coat. The dark stain spread, not deadly but enough to slow him down.

The other man had gone behind. but Julius and he had fought this way before and when Alex’s back found another’s he knew it was Julius’s.

He took the second man with another slash to his wrist and then brought his weapon over the man’s hand. His opponent dropped the sword, howling in pain. Alex didn’t hesitate. He tossed his small sword to his left hand, bent and swept up the sabre, baring his teeth at the other man as he straightened up. “You want more?”

Some people never learned. His opponent came at him but with a sabre and a small sword to beat down, he didn’t stand a chance. Alex had him. He advanced, knocking his opponent’s sabre aside with the larger weapon and going in with the smaller. He ducked as his opponent’s sword came down, whirled and found himself on the man’s blind side. He brought the sabre down but edged it aside at the last moment so he delivered a hopefully painful flesh wound.

Julius didn’t need any help. He’d brought one man down with a neat thrust to the upper thigh and the other ran off, yelling insults and threats.

Around them stood the men who’d left White’s and others who’d been strolling down Piccadilly when the fight began. The yells Alex had blocked out when he’d started to fight returned now and he grinned.

“Fifty, I only wagered fifty on Winterton. I should have made it a thousand.”

“Did you see what that fop just did?”

“Have you been taking lessons on the sly, Ripley?”

To which he grinned and replied, “No, I’ve always been this good.”

Alex dropped the sabre and shook Julius’s proffered hand. “We have been warned,” Julius said with a broad smile. “Just when I thought London was growing tedious.”

“So our enemies come out into the open,” Alex murmured.

“I know,” Julius replied, equally quietly. Of course he did.

He sheathed his sword and reviewed his appearance ruefully. “I can hardly call on my father in all my dirt. I’ll have to change. Will you walk along with me?”

“Willingly.”

To the sound of soft applause and coins chinking as they changed hands amongst their audience, Alex and Julius strolled in the direction of Bond Street.

Julius studied the wide cuff of his coat and tutted. “The man marked me. Blood’s the very devil to get out of broadcloth.”

Alex grimaced in companionable agreement. “My sympathies. Dankworth must be desperate to try something like that.”

“Which Dankworth? Do you think the duke is taking matters into his own hands?”

“Not overtly,” said Julius. “He’ll keep his distance. Operate at arms’ length so he can deny anything if he wishes. This is merely an opportunity. I suspect he couldn’t refuse the opportunity of attacking us. He knows of your interest in Connie, he also knows of his relative’s contract, and he sees a lever.”

Alex recalled something Connie had told him. “Jasper Dankworth said he’d visited the duke in London.”

“Then Northwich has offered Jasper something he can’t turn down. Wealth, most likely. If Jasper becomes the Downholland heir, then he is more useful to Northwich, who sees a man as a tool, no more. He will do anything, sell anyone, for the opportunity to bring the Stuarts back. More power for him and less for us. His first objective, as always, is to bring the Emperors down. You played into his hands, dear boy, or he will see it as such. Word has travelled exceedingly fast that Connie is in town and people have seen you paying her particular attention.”

Alex sighed. “I need to set a guard on her, don’t I?”

“Consider it done. The footmen who accompany Helena are large and capable. They have orders not to leave your lady alone.”

“It’s not enough.” Alex waved a hand, trying to scrub away what he’d just said. “Oh, I don’t mean that precisely, I know you have a care and some great hulking footmen. Just that it should be me. I should be the one who cares for her. I will have a special license tomorrow. If I can find a man of the cloth and Connie agrees we can marry within the day.”

“You do want her badly.” Julius’s indulgent smile told Alex he’d been in that situation.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to people who know you well. Have you told your father?”

“I’ll put him in the way of it later today,” Alex told him. “I’m hoping he comes to the ball we’re attending tonight and meets her there. He’ll like her, I’m sure.”

His father could do nothing to deter him and his own concerns about the matter weren’t in question. He didn’t give a damn. “It’s her or no one, Julius.”

“Exactly the way I felt about Caroline. I said the same thing to my mother when she protested my choice. Don’t worry about my mother’s compliance. I’ll speak to my father and point out that it will do someone she hates a bad turn. I’m sure I can find someone; at one time or another she hates everyone in London.”

Alex kicked a loose stone and watched it skitter over the pavement. “Are you inviting Dankworth?”

“Of course. I’ll tell my mother I particularly don’t want him to come. That should do the trick.” While the feud between the Dankworths and the Emperors simmered below the surface, they tolerated each other at big society events.

Alex chuckled. “It should indeed.”

“Do you want to kill him?”

“Lord, no!” he said in revulsion. “Too clean, too quick for Dankworth and what he tried to do to Connie. I want him to suffer. I need him at my mercy and penniless, so Stobart will cry off and he knows the real meaning of despair. He’s in debt, and I’d wager Northwich has refused to settle them until he gets his pound of flesh. If Jasper’s creditors come for him, they’ll kill him. He’ll be punting on the expectation.”

They commenced walking once more. Alex paused at the window of a gentleman’s tailor shop and gazed at the particularly vivid shade of blue satin displayed there, tossed over a chair set in the window as if it cost nothing. “I’ll wear my new dark green velvet to the ball next week, I think.”

Julius gave him a surprised glance. “Why would I want to know that?”

“Because I don’t want to clash with what Connie chooses to wear. I’ll make my intentions unmistakable. You could always send word of the gown she’ll wear.”

“Will you tell her where they’re coming from?”

“Knowing Connie, she’ll work it out eventually. Connie is shorter than Helena and fuller of figure. And the garments are new.” He sighed resignedly. “She’ll work out who’s paying for them, too. I just hope there’s time for her to enjoy them.”

“She will.” They walked a short distance in silence. “I like your Connie, you know. She’ll suit you.”

Alex glowed. “Yes. So you’ll either persuade her to choose something that goes with dark green, or send me word of the color she’s wearing.”

Julius grunted his assent. “But she isn’t choosing them. When they visited the mantua-maker and then the draper, Helena took careful note of the fabrics and colors she liked and we’ve been working off that. We’ll pay another visit. She did show a fondness for a shade of lilac that would become her with the right accessories. Will that do?”

“Perfect.”

They continued to Brook Street in perfect harmony and then Alex passed on to his own house to let his own valet tut and frown over his bloodstained coat and waistcoat.

* * * *

Lady Tremayne’s house was a relatively large establishment on Grosvenor Square. The servants had stripped the first floor saloon of furniture, except for a few sofas and chairs for chaperones and people resting between dances and the drawing room next door held a long table, which would hold a variety of refreshments in due course.

Connie had attended events like this at home, only not half so elegant and with less exalted guests. Still, they had enjoyed themselves and made the necessary connections. Balls, assemblies and the like were essential for maintaining local networks.

This appeared exactly the same. She guessed that men would be discussing business as well as playing cards in the smaller salon and the women were arranging matches, estate matters and politics. In her case, she’d have talked to the local member of Parliament, discussed the upcoming assizes, whose fields were most fertile, whose son was making up to whose daughter and the highwayman they couldn’t catch.

Not very different, after all. Except that at home she belonged in the inner circle. Here she was most distinctly an outsider. Nobody would trust her to discuss their intimate secrets and she didn’t imagine the covert glances people shot her from time to time.

Nerves seized her, bile rising in her throat. What if they all ignored her?

For the first time since Mother Cratchitt’s, she and Jasper Dankworth would share the same space. Alex had met them outside and exchanged a warning look with Julius.

She sucked in a cooling breath and lifted her chin. Jasper was strolling around the perimeter of the ballroom, a lady leaning on his arm. Miss Louisa Stobart. Would Miss Stobart ignore her? Would they cut her? She tensed, readying herself for the ordeal.

But they didn’t approach her, they turned and walked in the opposite direction without seemingly seeing her. Bad but not disastrous. A cut but not a direct one.