Authors: Kate Pearce

Simply Scandalous (12 page)

BOOK: Simply Scandalous

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A shout from behind her made the man pause and mutter an obscenity. He spat, lowered the spade, and delivered a casual kick into her ribs that had her curling up in agony.

When she opened her eyes again, Richard knelt by her side.

“Are you all right? What happened? Did they try and rob you?”

Her shoulder was throbbing alongside her ribs and she couldn't seem to draw in enough breath to answer him.

“Mr.
Lennox!
”

With a curse, Richard bent down and picked Violet up before striding toward the nearest park bench and laying her carefully on it. Her face was as pale as her cravat. He held his breath as her eyes finally fluttered open again.

“Knocked . . . the wind . . . out of me,” she managed to wheeze.

He touched her face and then gripped her hand. “Of course. Take your time.”

While Violet concentrated on her breathing, he waited, watching as waves of shock shuddered through her body.

“Can you help me get home?” she whispered. “I don't know what happened to my horse.”

“I've already sent my groom for a hackney. He can take care of our horses as well.”

“Thank you.”

His gaze swept over her. “Where are you hurt?”

“My shoulder and my ribs.” She winced. “But I don't think anything is broken.”

“We'll see what the doctor has to say about that.”

He suspected he sounded angry, but the sight of her falling from her horse, of that
rogue
standing over her with his weapon raised, had almost stopped his heart. “I assume you didn't plan this?”

“Not this time.” She squeezed his hand. “I swear it.”

“It's all right. This isn't exactly your style. I seem to remember that last time I watched you die, you were shot cleanly through the heart. There was rather a lot of blood.”

“Pig's blood,” she whispered. “I had it concealed beneath my shirt.”

“Ah, that's how you did it. I've been meaning to ask you about that.”

His anxious gaze scanned the entrance to the park as he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against the back of her gloved hand. He saw a hackney approaching and waved to attract the driver's attention.

“Barrow's here with the hackney. Let me carry you into the cab.”

“No, I'd look weak and we're still on display. Can you just help me walk?”

For a moment, when all he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and hold her close, her bravery and resolution confounded him. With his help, she levered herself into a sitting position and stared determinedly at the hackney. Richard braced his arm around her waist and brought her upright. Her fingers dug into his coat sleeve like a bird of prey's.

“Are you sure about this?”

She bit down on her lip, her eyes half-closed. “Yes, and if anyone asks, tell them I fell from my horse or something.”

“Don't worry about that now,” Richard said. “Let's get you home.”

In the hackney, he ignored her protests and sat beside her, one arm locked around her waist, absorbing as many of the bumps in the road as he could. She didn't lean fully against him, and he sensed how carefully she was holding herself through her panting breaths and rigid posture.

When they pulled up, he released her and got down first to pay the driver and alert his manservant.

“This isn't my house,” Violet said.

“It's mine.” Richard took a swift glance along the street and, seeing no one, picked Violet up and carried her directly into his lodgings. “I've already told the doctor to come here.”

He took her through the open doors into his bedroom and laid her on the bed before lighting the fire. “I'll find you some warm blankets.”

“What will your doctor think?”

He turned at the door to study her and noticed her face was beginning to display a collection of bruises that rivaled a prizefighter.

“He is the physician for the Delornay family. I suspect he is used to keeping secrets.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He frowned as she brought an unsteady hand to her head. He didn't like seeing her so defeated. He wanted her defying him at every turn, standing toe-to-toe with him and arguing her case.

“Mr. Ross? The doctor should be here soon.” Richard turned to find his manservant behind him. “I've warmed some blankets, and I have a hot brick to put on the poor young gentleman's feet.”

“Thank you, March.” Richard moved aside to let March through the doorway and watched while his servant spoke quietly to Violet and covered her with the quilts. While he waited, he tried to imagine what would have happened if he'd arrived just a few minutes later. Would he have found Violet dead on the ground, her head smashed in, her beautiful eyes forever darkened? The thought made him want to puke.

A knock at the door had March moving past him to admit the doctor. He was much younger than Richard had anticipated, and very well-spoken.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Ross. I'm Dr. Bailey. How may I assist you?”

The doctor's brisk manner helped to restore at least the appearance of calm to Richard. He ushered Dr. Bailey into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

“Firstly, this matter requires your complete discretion.”

“You may have that.” Dr. Bailey nodded. “I owe your stepmother my life.” His gaze moved toward Violet. “What happened?”

“She was set upon in the park.”

Dr. Bailey halted by the bed. “Did you say, âshe'?”

“Indeed, which is why we require your discretion.”

The doctor held Violet's wrist, took out his pocket watch, and went silent.

“Well, your pulse is certainly raised. Were you injured?”

“The man hit me on the left shoulder with his shovel and I fell off my horse.”

Her voice was a little faint, but at least she was speaking again. Richard forced himself to take a seat by the fire and not hover over Violet like an anxious parent.

“Ah, we need to remove your clothes.”

Richard started up again. “I'll help with that.”

Easing her out of her tightly fitting coat was a slow process, which obviously caused Violet great pain. By the time they were down to her shirt, sweat beaded her brow and she looked as if she might swoon again.

“Unbutton her breeches, please, Mr. Ross, so that we can take off her shirt.”

Dr. Bailey whistled as Violet's shoulders emerged from the shirt. Richard noticed her breasts were bandaged flat against her rib cage, but Dr. Bailey seemed oblivious.

“He certainly marked you.” The doctor traced the rapidly swelling bruise that curved up her arm and across her back. Violet grimaced as he carefully manipulated her shoulder and arm. “But from the look of you, I don't think anything is broken.”

“That's good,” Violet managed. “I turned away as he hit me, which probably put off his aim.”

“Indeed, although I should imagine you are in considerable pain.”

“Of course, she is,” Richard snapped.

Dr. Bailey's gaze flicked to Richard. “And we will make sure she is relieved of that pain as soon as we have discovered the full extent of her injuries.” He returned his attention to Violet. “Your face is bruised from the fall, but the cuts look superficial. Do you hurt anywhere else?”

“He kicked me here.” Violet placed her hand over her lower right rib cage. Her breath hissed out as Dr. Bailey probed her side, and Richard tensed.

“Again, I don't think it is broken, merely bruised. You were lucky.”

“If Mr. Ross hadn't appeared, I believe my attacker intended to finish me off with his shovel.” Violet shivered, and Dr. Bailey patted her bare shoulder, making Richard want to growl a warning.

“You'll be sore for a week or two, but then you should start to feel better. I'd keep your ribs bound as you have them now. That will help.” He stood and went to fetch his medical bag. “I'll leave you some laudanum for the pain. Use it wisely and sparingly.”

“Thank you,” Violet whispered. She sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

Richard ushered the doctor into his sitting room, where March was hovering with a tray of drinks.

“How much do I owe you for the visit, Dr. Bailey?” Richard asked as he offered the physician a drink, which was politely refused.

“Nothing, sir. I am far too indebted to the Delornay family to ever ask for payment for my services.”

“I'm not quite a Delornay.” Richard sipped his own brandy.

“Close enough.” Dr. Bailey smiled, and Richard marveled anew at how young he was. He put on his hat and cloak. “I'll come back and visit the patient in a day or two. Don't hesitate to call me if you see any signs of fever or internal swelling.”

“I will do so, Dr. Bailey. Thank you again.” Richard shook hands with the man and watched as March escorted him out.

He drank all his brandy and then started on another glass until his hands stopped shaking and anger began to replace fear. It was obvious that someone had decided to dispose of Violet, but who? Was it the unknown adversaries Keyes had hinted at, or was it Keyes himself now that his proteges were no longer important?

“March, Mr. Lennox will be staying here, at least for the night. I need you to take a message to his mother and brother at Harcourt House.”

“Yes, sir. Do you want your dinner first, sir?”

Richard sat down. “I think that would be an excellent idea. It might be a long night.”

V
iolet slowly opened her eyes and allowed her gaze to wander around the still-unfamiliar bedchamber. It was night and the curtains were drawn. A fire burned in the grate, and a single candle illuminated the figure slumped in a chair by the fire. Richard was asleep, his long elegant frame at rest, his face as peaceful as an angel's. A book dangled precariously from his fingers and as Violet watched, the book fell and woke the sleeper with a start.

His hazel gaze flew to the bed and met hers.

“Are you all right, Violet?”

“I am quite well, sir. I wish you would allow me to return to Harcourt House and let you have your bed back.”

“March has made me quite comfortable.” Richard stretched, his open-necked shirt white in the firelight. “We've already discussed this. It is better for you to be here. Even Jack agrees with me about that.”

Violet sat up against her pillows, ignoring the stab of pain in her shoulder. “But I've been here for over a week. Hasn't anyone noticed that I've been absent from society?”

Richard came over to sit on the side of the bed. “Your mother said that several people have asked after you. She told them you are somewhat sickly and catch every passing cold and malady.”

“I am rarely sick!”

“True, but Vincent Lennox is.” He reached for her hand. “How are you really feeling?”

She looked up into his face. “A little sore and rather frightened.” She shivered. “I didn't expect to be attacked out in the open like that. I'm just glad you arrived when you did.”

“So am I.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Seeing you die once was quite enough for me.”

Briefly, Violet closed her eyes. “There is something I want to tell you.”

“What is it?”

He didn't relinquish his warm clasp on her hand, and she gained courage from that.

“I wanted you to know exactly why we came to England.”

He bit down on the tender skin at the base of her thumb and she wanted to moan. “I thought you came for social advancement and to stake your claim on the Lennox family estate.”

“There is that, but there was another reason too.”

“Mmm?”

It was hard to concentrate when his lips were moving over her skin. “Over the last few years almost everyone we worked with who was involved in the Royalist resistance against Napoleon has disappeared or died in mysterious circumstances.”

“Including your father.”

“That's right. When Jack and I realized we were the only two people left, we decided it was time to abandon France. Our grandmother agreed.”

“But it seems that trouble has followed you across the Channel.” Richard raised his eyes to hers. “What did you think to find here that would help you?”

“Friends, allies . . .” Violet shrugged and then wished she hadn't. “And some kind of proof against the English spymaster we think is responsible for so many deaths.”

“An
Englishman?”

“During the war, the person we all reported to was an Englishman.”

Richard sat back. “You are suggesting your spymaster is attempting to kill you all? For what reason?”

“Because we know who he is, and what he's done.” Violet held Richard's disbelieving gaze. “There were discrepancies in the financial accounts, of the treasures stolen or lost . . . of people killed for money rather than for political reasons.”

“You suspect
Mr. Brown
is responsible for all this?”

“I know it is hard for you to believe, butâ”

Richard held up his hand. “Wait. You came to England suspecting this? Why didn't you run in the opposite direction?”

“Because he is a very powerful man, and Jack and I are tired of running. We want to
live
.”

Richard held her gaze and the silence lengthened. “I find this quite difficult to believe.”

“I knew you would, and as you have pointed out on many occasions, you have no reason to trust me at all.”

“Apart from the fact that someone tried to kill you last week and I don't think it was a crime of passion or because they objected to the cut of your coat.”

Violet exhaled. “Then you believe me?”

“Lord Keyes told me he had heard other rumors about a traitor in our own ranks. It would explain why he is so interested in you and your twin.”

“And why he let us parade around in society where Mr. Brown could see us.”

“Did you know he intended to do that?”

“We assumed that was the price for keeping us alive.”

His hand curled into a fist. “I'm going to kill Keyes when I find him.”

“You haven't seen him recently?”

“Not since the day before your âaccident.' ”

Violet bit her lip. “Do you think he might have been involved?”

“It's possible, I suppose, but I got the impression that he was after someone much bigger than you. Your Mr. Brown would obviously fit the bill. I believe he is a peer of the realm.”

“Perhaps they are waiting for me to show myself again so that they can finish me off.” Violet sighed. “You did warn Jack to be careful, didn't you?”

“Of course.” Richard patted her hand. “If I can't find Keyes, there are other men in the government I can talk to about this matter.”

“Do not put yourself into danger on my account. What if this acquaintance of yours inadvertently told Mr. Brown he was under suspicion?”

“Oh, that won't happen. The man I am thinking of is very discreet.”

“But you will be careful, won't you?”

He smiled into her eyes. “Of course. I'm no fool, love.”

She gently disengaged her hand from his. “Don't call me that.”

He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it and got off the bed. “I'll ask March to bring you a hot drink to help you sleep before he leaves for the night, and then I'll retire to my sleeping quarters.”

Violet watched him walk toward the door. “Richard?”

He looked back over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Thank you for believing me.”

His smile was wry. “Don't thank me yet, my dear. You know me, I like to check all the facts before I commit myself to anything.”

For some reason, she felt like crying. Why wouldn't he just believe her? But she knew the answer. She'd taught him to suspect everyone.

“You will be careful, though, won't you?”

“Naturally. Good night, Violet. Sleep well.”

She turned on her side and breathed in the scent of the linens that still smelled of Richard. At least she'd told him the truth. Not quite all of it, but enough. What he did with that information was entirely up to him. Like Jack, she was at a point where she simply wanted the masquerade to end.

Richard found himself pacing the hearth rug, unable to settle, and stared into the fire. “I'm going out, March. Will you remain here and watch over our guest until I return?”

“If you wish, sir, but it is rather late. Would it not be better to wait until the morning?”

“The man I intend to visit suffers from ill health and rarely sleeps. He'll probably enjoy the interruption.”

Richard put on his coat and hat, and picked up his gloves. He also took his walking cane, which concealed a rather fine rapier within it highly suitable for dispatching the undesirables of London. He didn't bother to call a hackney, as his destination was only two streets away through a well-lit part of the city.

When he reached the narrow town house, he knocked on the front door and waited patiently until he heard labored footsteps approaching. Several locks and bolts screeched back; then he was face-to-face with one of the oldest men he had ever met.

“Good evening, Mr. Daniels.”

The butler peered intently at him through his thick spectacles. “And who might you be?”

Richard leaned closer and raised his voice. “It is Richard Ross. Is Lord Denley at home?”

“Oh, it's yourself is it, then?” The butler's Irish accent was almost as dense as the glass in his spectacles. “The master is still awake. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you, my boy.”

Richard went into the hallway, divested himself of his outer garments, and handed them to Mr. Daniels, who staggered under the weight.

“Go on up, my boy, give him a nice surprise.”

Richard trod carefully up the worn stair runner and headed for the large chamber at the front of the house where Lord Denley tended to hold court. He knocked softly on the door and was rewarded by a shouted, “Come in, you deaf old man! Why are you bothering to knock at all when you can't hear my reply?”

Richard grinned as he pushed open the door and went inside. Lord Denley sat with his back to the door, a book in one hand and a glass of something in the other.

“Good evening, my lord.”

Lord Denley turned and his face broke into a smile. He held out his hand. “Well, I'll be damned! Richard Ross. How are you, my friend?”

Richard came around the back of the chair until he faced his old mentor and shook his hand. Time had been kind to Lord Denley. He looked barely older than Richard, and yet he was at least twice his age.

“How long have you been back in England?”

Richard sat down. “I'm embarrassed to tell you that I've been here for quite a while. I should have visited you sooner.”

“It is of no matter, you are here now.” Lord Denley studied him intently. “Are you in trouble?”

Richard smiled. “How like you to understand that I would still come to you if that was the case.”

“You still haven't made things up with your father, then?”

“Actually, I have. We get along quite well these days.” Even as he said the words, Richard realized they were true. As long as he and Philip avoided talking about his mother, they were fine.

“I'm glad to hear it. Every son needs his father.”

“At times you were more of a father to me than he ever was, and I thank you for that.”

Lord Denley shrugged. “I did what I could, but I knew you would eventually reconcile.”

“So you kept telling me, although I hardly believed you.”

Lord Denley's smile died. “Life plays some very peculiar tricks on us sometimes, doesn't it?” His hand smoothed over the rug that covered his crippled legs. “I'm glad to see you, Richard, and more than willing to help you in whatever limited way I can.”

“I'll wager you still have your ways of finding out information. You were the best spymaster the English ever put in France.”

“You flatter me. I did my part just as you did.”

“I dabbled and thought of it as something of a game.
Until Violet died
. You almost gave up your life for your country.”

“I did what needed to be done. The question is, what can I do for you now?”

Richard studied the calm face of his mentor and considered exactly how to broach such a delicate subject.

“I swear that I will keep your confidences, Richard. Have I ever let you down before?”

“No, never.” Richard slowly let out his breath. “Lord Keyes told me he had heard rumors that one of our former spymasters in France had not behaved with honor.”

“I don't think any of them behaved terribly well. There was a war going on, you know.”

“I understand that; God, I was part of it, but this is more serious.” He raised his gaze to Lord Denley's. “This man is so concerned about maintaining his reputation that he is still attempting to eliminate anyone who might have evidence against him.”

“That is a different matter.” Lord Denley sighed. “And I will confess that I have heard a similar rumor. Do you have any idea whom it might refer to?”

“I've heard the name âMr. Brown' mentioned. Does it mean anything to you?” Richard asked.

Lord Denley went still. “It means quite a lot to me. If the rumors are true, we are all in terrible trouble.”

“Can you tell me who it is?”

“Not yet.” Richard went to speak and Lord Denley held up his hand. “If I tell you my suspicions, you will go off like a half-cocked pistol and I can't have that. I must be certain of the facts.”

“How quickly can you be sure?”

“Why the urgency, Richard? You of all men know that diplomacy and espionage take a long time to come to fruition.”

BOOK: Simply Scandalous

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