Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) (14 page)

“’Lo Peele, Miss Nevins. Enjoying yourselves?”

“’Tis Sutton! Heigh-ho lad, that’s a clever disguise,” Lord Rodney laughed. “I daresay you’re the only leper here.”

“And ’tis so apt,” Emily muttered.

“And you, too, are aptly garbed.” Ryan’s drawl was slow and caressing. Was he making reference to the fact that she was shepherdess to her family and everyone at Oak Hill? Compliment or jibe?

“Come, the two of you should dance and caper,” Peele urged. “If you do not ask her, I will, lad.”

“Oh, I do not think—” She started to protest, but Ryan took her hand and led her onto the dance floor.

As he began to lead her through the steps, he smiled. “Devaux as a crusader—another apt costume.”

“He is, Mr. Dutton. Lucy is his partner.”

“Sutton. They go well together. See how they laugh and tease?”

Emily glanced toward them. “They do seem a pair. Devaux is quite amusing, and he does bring out the best in Lucy,” she mused.

“Are you not jealous, Emily?”

Emily laughed. “Not in the least, I assure you. I am, in fact, relieved.”

The grin completely undid her. Her knees felt weak, and the memory of how soft those lips were on hers and what that mouth could do flashed through her mind. Mustering all her strength, she turned on her heel and left him to follow her off the dance floor.

…

The French porcelain mantle clock struck the hour of eleven, and the orchestra played a lively contredance. Emily ducked behind an enormous potted palm before an advancing Ed Jennings could lead her into the steps. On her way to the punch bowl, she glimpsed the edge of a black robe and heard the sound of bells exit through the French doors to the gardens. Ryan and Miss Turner? Had they resumed their affair? An unfamiliar burning gnawed at her vitals.

To make matters worse, she noted that Henry Dodge, in a simple domino, was perilously close to her. She did not want to encounter him just yet. He would only disapprove of her costume, as he’d disapproved of everything else since she’d arrived in London. She slipped through the terrace doors and held her breath. When he didn’t follow, she hurried down an overgrown winding path that opened to a moonlit garden. She breathed a sigh of relief and perched on the edge of a stone bench when the tinkle of bells reached her.

“Hurry, darling.”

The furtive voice came from a recess in the hedge that held a bench. She approached on tip-toe, edging along the hedge, not wanting to interrupt if the lovers were not her quarry. She peeked through the shrubbery.

The harem slave was shrugging out of her little brocaded waistcoat as she faced a black-robed leper. She unhooked her veil and smiled at him. Janet Turner! Just as she had begun to suspect.

The leper’s hand came up to brush the cowl of his robe back. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight, Janet. How even you would dare such a costume…?”

Ryan. Still stealing moments with Miss Turner? She lifted one foot to turn back when Janet’s next words held her immobile.

“Put yourself to rights, Janet. I’ve told you I’m done.”

“Do you criticize me, Ryan? I wore it for you. Does it excite you? Come, play at being a sultan. I shall be your obedient slave.” She kneeled before him. “I will do anything you desire.”

“Anything?” Ryan’s voice held a warning. “Then leave. Your costume has scandalized everyone, Janet. Peele will be furious once he learns the harem slave is his mistress.”

“He shall never know. When it is time for me to leave, I shall go to the cloak room, discard my wig, and put a monk’s robe over my costume. He’ll never even suspect.”

“Have you no shame, Janet? Have you no tender feelings for Peele at all?”

“The old goat! His staff is shriveled and barely gets the job done. Come, dear leper, I am yours for the taking.”

“Not this time.” The leper’s bell rang as he turned away. “And not ever again.”

“But I need you now—this moment! You do me no good at all if you will not give me what I need when I need it.” She scurried around him to block his way.

Ryan’s jaw set in a hard line. “I have no interest in doing you any good, Janet. Now or ever.” He gripped her by her shoulders and set her out of his way. “I’m done. How many times must I say it?”

“Then why did you come to the garden with me?”

“To warn you to leave before Peele discovers his mistress is a whore.”

“It is that Sussex farm girl, is it not? Miss Emily Nevins?” There was a sneer in her voice when she said Emily’s name. “You never scorned me before she came to town.”

Emily backed up and held her breath at the mention of her name. She was desperate to retreat without being discovered. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, and she’d stayed too long already.

“I will not discuss Miss Nevins with you. Leave it be, Janet.”

“If you won’t give me what I need, I’ll find another. There are dozens here tonight who would be happy to—”

“Use them! You have been anyway.”

She seized his arm as he turned to go. “I warn you, Ryan. I will make you sorry. And that provincial nobody, too. No one scorns me.”

Ryan shrugged off Janet’s clinging hand and brushed past Emily’s hidden position with the barest hesitation.

Their eyes met, and a chill went up her spine from the look he gave her. Clearly, in that split-second hesitation, he had decided not to betray her presence to Janet, but she suspected she’d answer to him later.

Janet narrowed her eyes and refastened her veil, muttering to herself. “You’ve just made the worst mistake of your life, Ryan Sutton. No man walks away from me without paying a price.”

Emily hurried back to the ballroom, afraid that Devaux and Lucy might have marked her absence. As she came to the open glass doors, a strong hand seized her arm and spun her around.

“Eavesdropping, Miss Nevins?” Ryan whispered. “I ought to put you over my knee.”

“I’ll scream.”

Ryan grinned. “I can think of things I’d rather do to you, Emily. Shall we go back to the garden? You may finish what Janet started. We’d both like that, wouldn’t we?”

The truth in his taunts had an aggravating tendency to make her blush, and she could feel the heat rise in her cheeks now. “Barbarian!” she whispered.

“Barbarian, is it?” He leaned close—mere inches from her lips. She could smell the clean, outdoor scent of him and feel his breath pass along her cheek. His burnished brown eyes glittered with something dangerous and seductive in equal amounts. “I quit Miss Turner because of you, minx. Before we took our walk to my rooms.”

Her pulse raced with excitement. The intensity of his eyes, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hand on her arm—all nearly left her limp. When he fixed her with that slow, scorching gaze, she felt as if she were melting inside. With what little strength she could muster in the face of a will even stronger than hers, she slipped through the open glass doors into the ballroom, leaving Ryan where he stood.

Lord Devaux saw her at once and pulled her onto the dance floor. “Where have you been?”

“To get some air,” she said.

“Ah. I was going to show you and Miss Lucy the gardens, but I suppose you’ve seen enough of them.”

“Quite enough, thank you.”

“I wanted a private moment to discuss something of great import with you. Miss Lucy let it slip that you may be returning home soon.”

“I wanted no fuss, so I thought I’d leave quietly.”

“I will miss you.”

She smiled. “I shall ease your loss by leaving Lucy with the Davises.” Her temples began to throb, and she pressed them with her fingertips. Too much wine too quickly. “Lord Devaux, I must go to the ladies retiring room for a few moments. After, will you take me home? I have a headache.”

“I’ll send for my coach to be brought ’round, then I will ask Miss Lucy to come fetch you.”

Overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, Emily fled down the long corridor to the ladies retiring room. She reclined on a chaise, and a maid brought a cool cloth for her forehead. Her mind kept returning to Ryan. He was a dangerous obsession. She loved him. She hated him, she feared him, and she trusted him with her life. None of it made sense.

Lucy arrived quarter of an hour later. “The coach is waiting, Emmy, and I’ve said our goodbyes to Brock and Audrey. Are you feeling better?”

She stood and linked arms with Lucy as they started down the corridor. “I want to go home tomorrow.” It was time. Reynard would be back for his son soon. “There will be a new moon in a few days.”

“New moon? What has that got to do with anything?”

Ah, then Mama had never told Lucy about the smuggling. Good. “Nothing, Lulu. Just an observation. But there are things to be done, and I must decide which crops to plant.”

Lucy looked crestfallen. “I shall pack when we get home.”

“I want you to stay with Brock and Audrey. I shall come join you when everything is settled at Oak Hill.” She covered Lucy’s hand on her arm with her own. “And Lord Devaux is a possibility worth exploring, do you not think?”

Lucy blushed. “He is a very amusing man.”

“Amusing? Faith, Lucy! If you feel no more than that, you deserve to lose him.”

Lucy looked down at the marble floor as they walked. “Emily, I adore him, but it is so sudden. I fear he already thinks me brazen.”

She laughed. “Knowing Lord Devaux, that would be a distinct advantage if it were so. My advice to you is to simply be yourself. And should he ask, marry him.”

As they passed a closed door, a muffled scream reached them, along with the jingling of bells. This could only mean disaster. Lucy reached for the door knob, and Emily tried to stop her. She was too late.

The scream had come from the harem slave. Her veil was down, along with her blouse, leaving her recognizable as Miss Turner. She was bent backward over a divan, her arms clinging to a hooded monk, her bare legs wrapped around his hips. At that precise moment, the monk was lifting the hem of his robe while Janet urged him to hurry.

Emily pulled the stunned Lucy back into the corridor and closed the door.

Lucy gasped, her color approaching crimson. “What…what?”

“Come, Lucy. Lord Devaux is waiting. He will have our cloaks.” She tugged at Lucy’s arm.

Her sister followed no more than twenty feet, then stopped and drew Emily into a small alcove just off the ballroom.

“Emmy, that was Miss Turner. She and that man—they were….”

Chapter Thirteen

“Forget what you saw,” Emily urged. “Come, now—”

“How can I forget? Oh, how could they? I will give Miss Turner a piece of my mind when—oh!” Lucy stopped in her tracks. “Could the monk be
raping
poor Miss Turner?”

The horrid woman actually
had
found another willing partner just as she’d threatened! “No, Lucy. Miss Turner was willing. If I were to guess, I’d say the tryst was her idea.”

“Truly?”

“Miss Turner has a reputation for such liaisons. Lord Devaux told me that half the nobles in London have been with her. And…” Emily could not bring herself to mention Ryan’s name. “And some not noble. Leave it, Lucy. Forget you ever opened that door.”

“But—Lord Peele. What of him?”

“He will not hear it from my lips, nor yours. ’Twould destroy him. Now, come.”

She and Lucy emerged from the alcove to look straight into Lord Peele’s shocked face, drained of color. He turned abruptly and stormed down the long corridor, throwing one door open after another.

Emily took several steps after him. “Lord Peele! Roddy! Please! Come back!”

Lucy held her sleeve, restraining her from going after the highwayman. He reached the small sitting room, threw the door open, stood still as he assimilated the scene within, and then staggered, catching the door jamb for support. Slowly, as if with great effort, he stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him.

“What have I done?” Emily moaned.

“You couldn’t know he would hear.”

“What will he do? Miss Turner is everything to him.”

“Perhaps he’ll challenge her lover or discard Miss Turner. ’Tis out of our hands, Emmy. Hurry. Lord Devaux will wonder what has become of us.”

“He has, indeed,” he said as he came toward them. “What is out of your hands?”

“Nothing,” Emily shot a warning glance to Lucy, but raised voices from the closed room carried to them, words indistinct but tone unmistakable—enraged.

The earl glanced toward the closed door, then back at them. “I know when I’m being put off. What is it?”

Emily seized on the first diversion that came to mind. “Your sword! Oh, that wonderful sword! Where did you leave it?”

“I put it in the coach. Have you changed your minds? Do you want to stay?”

Lucy looked ready to cry. “No. We want to leave.”

“Then let’s be off.” Devaux put his arms around both girls and turned them toward the foyer.

“By the by, we won the wager, Lord Devaux,” Lucy told him. “We know who the harem girl is.”

“How did you—”

A loud voice lifted in a plea and echoed along the corridor. They turned toward the sound. The report of a pistol discharging rang out. Devaux stepped in front of them as a shield and started toward the sound. Voices gathered behind them, the commotion having drawn a crowd. Lucy clung to Emily’s sleeve when she tried to follow Devaux.

She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming. Who had been shot? Not Lord Peele! Please, not Peele. He’d done nothing to deserve this.

The sitting room door burst open, and Lord Peele backed out, staring with glazed eyes at something within. The cloaked monk, a bloody slash in the left arm of his robe, burst past him and down the corridor away from them. Lord Peele dropped a still-smoking pistol from his left hand, and it clattered on the marble floor, the sound deafening in the sudden unnatural silence.

The crowd gathering behind Emily seemed to hold their collective breaths. Jonah stopped halfway between Lord Peele and the spectators.

“Roddy? What’s happened, man?” he asked.

Lord Peele did not respond. His gaze remained fixed on something inside the room. Slowly, deliberately, his right hand came up holding his other pistol. He pointed it into the room, and a shrill scream rent the air. Miss Turner!

Lord Peele sagged, and his shoulders slumped when he glanced to the side and took note of the gathered crowd. “Stay where you are, Devaux,” he warned. “It’s too late.”

“Too late? Roddy, for God’s sake—what is it?”

Emily sobbed and started forward. The pain was so great in Peele’s stance, in his eyes, that she could not bear to see him alone and without comfort.

The rest happened so quickly that she scarcely had time to register the event. Dear old Lord Peele sobbed in anguish, reversed the pistol, placed the barrel in his mouth, and released the hammer. He toppled backward as blood and tissue spurted outward behind him. Someone screamed, and the world fell away into darkness.

…

“Shh. I think she’s coming around.”

Emily recognized Devaux’s voice and opened her eyes, trying to focus in the dim interior of the coach.

“Thank God,” Ryan hugged her closer.

“What…what happened?” she mumbled. She felt dizzy and disoriented.

“You fainted,” Devaux said. “Thank God Sutton arrived in time to catch you. You would have taken a nasty fall.”

“I do not faint. I’ve never fainted. But, did I scream?”

“Not you, Emily. ’Twas Miss Turner,” Lucy replied, her voice flat and dull. She was sitting beside Devaux and looking almost wooden while he chaffed her hands.

The events came back with sudden clarity. The scene she’d witnessed was horribly etched in her mind. Tears began a slow trickle down her cheeks, and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “Where…where is Mr. Dodge? The Davises?”

Ryan smoothed a loose strand of hair back from her face. “Dodge has gone ahead. Brock and Audrey are following close behind us.”

“It could have been you,” she whispered, looking directly into his warm dark eyes. The thought was so disturbing that she shuddered, and a pain in her stomach nearly doubled her over. Ryan said nothing to defend himself, but he held her gaze with a steady reassuring pull.

Devaux sighed. “It could have been any of us, had the time been different. Janet’s mystery lover had the ill luck to be last. God only knows who he was or where he went, but he’d better have that wound tended.”

Lucy looked up at Devaux as if he held some answer to the tragedy. “I think he was going to kill Miss Turner, but he killed himself instead.”

Devaux gave her a reassuring smile and dabbed at her tears with his handkerchief. “Softly, Miss Lucy. This was no doing of yours.”

Guilt crushed down on Emily. “No, it was my fault. Lord Peele overheard me talking to Lucy. I denounced Miss Turner as a slut. We were talking about how we found her just a moment before. If not for my indiscretion, he’d be alive!”

Ryan shook his head. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Emily. Peele was bound to find out. Janet knew it. That was half the excitement for her—tempting fate. This was her indiscretion. Not yours.”

Lucy stared down at her hands folded in her lap. “I would not leave and was bound upon going back, Emmy. You were only attempting to prevent me from causing a scene.”

Devaux pulled Lucy close, lending her the warmth of his body. “Rogers!” he yelled up to his coachman. “Hurry. Miss Lucy is suffering shock.”

Emily was touched by Jonah’s tenderness with Lucy and glad of it. They would make an excellent match. And even as she had that thought, she felt a little bereft. Lucy would not need her anymore.

A moment later, they pulled up outside the Davis residence and Devaux lifted Lucy out of the coach. He was back before Ryan could help Emily down.

“Mrs. Davis is taking Miss Lucy to her room. Dodge forbids you to stay here, Emily. Says he wants you where you belong. He just pulled ahead of us.”

She should be with Lucy, but the fight had gone out of her. She settled back in the seat as Ryan climbed in beside her. “I do not like this, Emmy. You should not be alone in that house with Dodge.”

“Should I not?” She nearly choked on her laugh as she recalled the times they’d been alone in her house. In his rooms. But she agreed there was a difference with Dodge, though she couldn’t say what it was.

…

Bridey hurried to the foyer and gasped in alarm when she saw Emily. “Lordy! What’s happened, miss? You look like death warmed over.”

Mr. Dodge appeared in the doorway of the library. “Now! Explain yourself.”

Bracing herself for an ugly scene, Emily followed Mr. Dodge into the library and dropped her cloak over a chair, comforted by the knowledge that Ryan and Devaux were behind her. “Lucy was in shock. She needed to lie down at once.”

Mr. Dodge’s attitude became a mixture of annoyance and distress. “She should be under my care.” He turned and made a visible attempt to compose himself. “I should have known you were up to no good when you insisted on dressing at the Davises. Was this entire fiasco your doing, Miss Nevins, or Miss Lucy’s?”

“Mine,” Ryan and Devaux answered at the same time.

Mr. Dodge looked as if he would back down and then thought better of it. “I shall converse with his lordship first. You go on to bed, Miss Nevins.”

She’d rather face the consequences of Mr. Dodge’s anger tonight, and she would not be excluded from a discussion which was sure to involve her. She suspected Ryan and Lord Devaux would accept the blame for what was surely her fault in order to shield her from Dodge’s anger, but she’d always taken responsibility for her own decisions.

“I’d prefer to answer your questions tonight, Mr. Dodge, and rest easier for having it done.” She perched on the edge of a chair.

The first order of business was brandy all around. Ryan brought her a glass and whispered, “Drink it, Emily. You’ll feel better for it.”

He ran the back of one finger along her cheek. The gesture was oddly intimate and comforting. She ventured a small smile of her own as she accepted the glass and took a sip.

“Lord Devaux, if you would be so kind as to explain?” Though Mr. Dodge’s tone was respectful, his eyes never left Emily.

Ryan went to stand by the fireplace and propped one elbow on the mantle. Jonah half-sat on the edge of Mr. Dodge’s desk while Mr. Dodge himself paced from the door to the window and back.

“’Tis a long, ugly story, Dodge,” Devaux began. “You see, Miss Turner has been…well, carrying on for some time. Tonight, Peele caught her with someone in
flagrante delicto
at the masque. He shot the man and then blew his own brains out—pardon me, Miss Nevins. Peele did the deed in the corridor. Unfortunately, Miss Nevins and Miss Lucy witnessed the event at close quarters—scarce twenty feet away. Miss Nevins fainted, but Miss Lucy is suffering shock.”

“That is an appalling story,” Mr. Dodge exclaimed. He gulped his brandy and poured another for all but Emily, who had barely touched hers. “I can only imagine the rumors that will be flying by morning. What sort of fool would risk his future for a piece of…?”

The solicitor waved one hand dismissively and turned to Emily. “And what is the meaning of your scandalous behavior, miss? Explain yourself.”

Her
behavior? Her emotions were raw, and she was too dull-witted to mince words. There was only one way to deal with Dodge tonight. She lifted her chin and met his gaze straight on. “I have done nothing I need to explain to you, sir.”

“I am your guardian!”

“My mother is my guardian. You are
temporarily
acting in her stead for my stay in London.”

“You accepted my hospitality and have abused it sorely. Such a daring costume could ruin your reputation for good and bring reproach upon my own name. Why, your hair was unbound, and your décolletage was far too daring. Everyone will think you are a tart!”

“There was nothing in the least bit daring about my costume. Compared to some there tonight, mine was modest. And ’twas your scheme to bring me to London in the first place. As for bringing reproach upon your name—”

“Damnation! I ought to lock you in your room!”

Emily looked him in the eye, tossed down her brandy in a single gulp, and kept a straight face as it began to burn its way to her stomach.

“Did you hear me, Miss Nevins? I said—”

“No, sir, you will not lock me up, because if you do, my mother will turn the London courts upside-down. When she finishes with you, your reputation will be so sullied that not even a beggar-boy will employ you.”

Devaux’s eyes widened, but Ryan merely smiled and raised his glass to her.

Dodge called her bluff. “Let her, damn it! Let her! She hasn’t faced me in several years! I doubt she will journey away from her precious Scotland to rescue her wayward daughter!”

Emily narrowed her eyes. “Are you fool enough to gamble on that?”

Ryan stepped forward with a conciliatory attitude. “I wouldn’t advise it, sir. Mrs. Nevins seems quite protective of her daughters.”

“How would you know, Sutton?”

“I met her a few months ago, just before she left for Scotland again. She’s a friend of my uncle’s. Quite a pleasant woman, is she not? Though she does seem to bear a particular grudge against you, sir. I wouldn’t give her cause to be angry unless you do not mind having the Nevins accounts removed from your management.”

“But—” Mr. Dodge sputtered, “she cannot do that! The trust is specific—”

Ryan shrugged. “Very soon, Miss Nevins will be making those decisions for herself, will she not? And if you’d like her accounts then—”

Watching Ryan, Emily could well believe he was capable of living a lie and keeping up a deception. She cast him a grateful glance before addressing Dodge again. “She has not liked you, sir, since you tried to remove me from her custody when I turned sixteen.”

“I was acting for your benefit,” he defended.

Emily waved one hand as if swatting a bothersome fly. “So you said. But Mother feared it would be Lucy next, and she would never consent.”

Dodge abruptly changed tactics. He turned to Ryan and Jonah with a slight bow. “Gentlemen, I’m certain you will excuse us. ’Tis time that Miss Nevins and I had a long overdue talk regarding her future. I assure you, she will come to no harm.”

Devaux was concerned when he came to say his goodbye. “God keep you well until tomorrow. I shall call on you and Miss Lucy as soon in the day as is decent.”

She patted his cheek. “Thank you, Lord Devaux.”