by Aileen Fish
“Who is that now?”
She hoped her father was not referring to her.
Over her shoulder, she called, “I will just go see, shall I?” She closed the door behind her and ran, calming herself before stepping into the drawing room. Both men ignored the warm fire as if they were unaware their noses and ears were red from the cold morning.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” She moved into the room but avoided getting too near. This was not a day to have Ashmoore looking too deeply into her eyes, or Northwick going on about his fascination with the damned Scarlet Plumiere. For all she knew, Ashmoore had already spread the news; she need only wait for the eminent confrontation. But there was another confrontation she had to worry about first—the one between a demented father and the men who held her future in their hands.
She skirted over to the fire and rubbed her hands together as if she were chilled. “I am sorry you have come all this way for naught. My father isn’t feeling quite himself this morning, and I could not bear to leave him—”
“Nonsense!” Her father walked into the room, quite a new man from only a moment before. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
They exchanged bows. Livvy could not seem to get her mouth to close.
“Good to see you again, Birmingham.” Her father sat in his favorite chair.
“And you, sir. You were going to call me North.” Ah, but the man was lovely in the morning, red ears and all. He wore a cravat the color of buttermilk that set off his tanned face. His coat was a warm brown above buff breeches. His Hessians shined nearly as brightly as his smile.
“Was I? Isn’t that what you call that grandson of yours? The one who was held for ransom in France. Did you ever get him back?”
Northwick’s shine dropped away. His face twisted. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Ashmoore shot him a worried glance and stepped up to block her father’s view of his friend.
“As a matter of fact, Lord Telford, we did get him back. Safe and sound.”
“Glad to hear it. Worried about his mind. Heard he was tortured.” Her father said, frowning at nothing in particular.
Ashmoore turned to face his friend. Northwick shook his head and Ashmoore stepped aside, though not far. Finally, the darker man looked to Livvy. She could only shake her head in apology. The earl nodded at her, then continued to watch Northwick.
The latter found a cheery smile. “Are you up to our outing this morning, my lord?”
Her father stopped frowning and looked up as if noticing his company for the first time. “Northwick! Good of you to come. My Livvy would have been sorely disappointed I think. She has not been shopping for quite a while. That reminds me. Any news from The Scarlet Plumiere, my boy?”
“All is quiet on the newspaper front, my lord.”
“Yes, well. Perhaps the child has been busy.” Her father looked around at her then. “There’s something important I wanted to tell you, Livvy. Do not let me forget.” Then her father winked.
She looked at Ashmoore. The man nodded and smiled, though Northwick could not see it. Was he trying to tell her that her father knew she was The Scarlet Plumiere? The pair had spoken privately the other day while leaving the garden.
He nodded again.
Extraordinary! Could that possibly be the thing her father was always trying to tell her, but never got around to doing so? She so longed to relieve his mind.
“Father, you have already told me.” She swallowed her tears before they could splash out of her eyes. “Remember?”
“Have I? That’s fine then.” He swatted North’s leg to gain his attention. “Do not forget your promises, young man.”
“Yes, my lord. Does this mean you will not be accompanying us this morning?”
“I think not. I am told I am not feeling up to it, though it may turn out to be a good day after all.”
“But Papa, I could not possibly!”
“Of course you can, my dear. Stella will go along. See to it Hopkins.”
“Yes, my lord.” Hopkins hurried from the room.
“Lord Ashmoore?”
“Sir?”
“You will watch over them both, I trust. I hear you are a handy sort of fellow to have about.”
“He is that, my lord.” North smiled. “That is the very reason why I bear his company.”
“I trust you both to see that she spends an embarrassing amount of my money. Two years’ worth for a start.”
“We will see to it, my lord.” Northwick looked at her then with the strangest expression upon his face. If she had to guess, she would think it was regret. But what could he be regretting? That her father was not in his right mind? Did that make her unworthy in some way?
Her thoughts began swirling in her stomach and she took a deep breath to try and calm the storm stirred up by her imagination alone. She would wait and see how the rest of the morning played out before she would declare the man an ass. She had come to admire Mr. Lott. In truth, she had collected an array of emotions where the Earl of Northwick was concerned. It would be a pity to end up disliking the man in the end.
Livvy bid her father goodbye and joined the men in the cold foyer. Ashmoore helped her don her white cloak, then pulled on his gloves as he walked out the door. Northwick dropped his gloves in his hat and stepped into the doorway, then held out a hand to her. She took it and waited for him to step outside, but he pulled her into the doorway instead. For a moment, her skirts kept them wedged together, at least from the knees down.
“Livvy, I—”
Ashmoore cleared his throat. He stood beside the carriage, waiting, watching.
“We have men guarding your house, even at this moment, so please do not fear for your father,” he said. She got the feeling that was not at all what he had wished to say—and what was he trying to say by rubbing his thumb against her hand as he held it?
He took a breath, frowned, then took another. Poor man, he was going to try again.
“Livvy, if things were different, I would be kissing you this minute. I just wanted you to know that.”
“And now she knows.” Ashmoore gestured toward the now open carriage. “And the brazier is cooling.”
Good heavens!
His strange declaration repeated in her mind while she and Stella shivered under a large fur blanket on one side of the carriage, their toes warming above the brazier hidden in the floor. The men faced them, unaffected. Thankfully, Northwick sat across from Stella so Livvy need not be uncommonly aware of where his knees rested in relation to her own, regardless of the blanket that would have come between them. The man was pure heat, but rather than the warmth that might stop her shivering, it likely would increase it. Ashmoore had no such effect upon her, and so she closed her eyes and imagined the floor beneath her feet to be a bit warmer than it was and willed her teeth not to chatter. When her chills finally ebbed away, she opened her eyes in time to see Northwick’s gaze move quickly away from her. She wished desperately to know what he was thinking, and yet was fearful at the same time.
“I must apologize for my father,” she began.
“Think nothing of it,” interrupted Northwick. “He is not the first gentleman afflicted so. And he will not be the last.”
“I trust...” Oh, blast it, but she could think of no better way to ask. “I trust that my father’s condition will remain between the pair of you.”
Northwick frowned. “You mean, will I refrain from mentioning it in, say, a newspaper?”
“That is exactly what I mean.” She raised her chin, then realized she had a role to play that day and lowered it.
Ashmoore coughed into his black glove. Had she been looking elsewhere, she might have missed his brief smile. The earl still had not shared her identity with his friend. Why?
“I will mention his condition to no one. You have my word. I am surprised you would think otherwise, my lady.” Northwick shifted in his seat. “I trust you will not discuss with your lady friends anything your father might have me
ntioned concerning me.”
“I do not know what you mean.” She looked at her lap to keep from staring too intently at the man, from trying to pry his secrets from him.
“Any of your lady friends, my lady, not just those with a penchant for the pen.”
“I am afraid I was worried about other matters this morning, my lord, and did not pay particular attention to his discussion with you. And there are no such lady friends with whom to gossip, even if I were so inclined. In truth, it surprises me you would think it of me.”
Although it was true that Stella was her only confidant, she should not have admitted it. Now he would think her deserving of his pity!
Her maid sneaked a hand over to briefly squeeze her own beneath the blanket. Livvy lifted her face to the window to chase away the maudlin thoughts that threatened to bring tears to her eyes. She dared not look at the Earl of Ashmoore to see if she had amused the man yet again.
“I beg your pardon. That was hardly the foot upon which I wished to begin this morning.” Northwick signaled the driver with a knock on the wall. The carriage slowed and stopped.
“Are you tossing me out, my lord?” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood.
“Never.” He looked at Stella. “I would like to let you in on a little secret, my lady. Would you care to have your maid step outside for a moment?”
Her heart jumped. Was he going to call her out, at the side of the road?
“Stella is most loyal, my lord. I would prefer she stay inside, where it is warm.”
“Very well.” He glanced at his friend, who only raised a brow. “I have decided you are in far too much danger from Lord Gordon, or his lackeys, and need protection.”
“Is that so?” It was the most cautious thing to say at the moment.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat while Lord Ashmoore watched him, smiling.
Northwick turned to the latter. “Do you suppose you could do this any better?”
Ashmoore nodded. “Absolutely, but for all the world I would not deprive you of the chance to make an arse of yourself.” He turned and bowed to Stella and her. “Forgive my language, ladies.”
Stella giggled. Livvy squeezed her hand and she stopped.
“I beg your pardon, Lord Northwick, but what exactly are you trying to do?”
“I have decided—”
“Skip to the next bit. You have said that already.” She tilted her head and raised her brow, the epitome of patience in her manner at least.
A laugh burst from Ashmoore.
She pointed at him. “You are not helping.”
The earl bowed his head and bit his bottom lip. He was rather handsome when he did so—a bright flash of white teeth in the midst of all that darkness.
Northwick growled. “Since you are in danger—”
“Through no fault of my own.”
“Well, that is debatable—” He stopped when he noticed her mouth open. He held up one hand as if swearing on the bible. “I admit to placing you in danger.”
“Better.”
“But nevertheless, you need protection.”
“And you think you are the best man for the job?” She tried not to sound doubtful, but failed. And damn it if the man did not appear deflated.
Ashmoore’s smile was gone.
“Lord Ashmoore’s the best man for the job, actually.” Northwick smiled briefly, then gestured toward his friend before folding his hands back in his lap. “There is not a man alive with whom you would be safer.”
He was handing her off?
“I will be safe at home. If I stop the charade of rejoining Society, I will be perfectly safe going back to—”
“I am afraid that is not true. I am certain, if it has not yet occurred to Gordon, it will soon, that if I can find The Plumiere, he can do the same.”
“But you have not found her!” She swallowed, but not easily. “Have you?”
Ashmoore would not meet her eye.
“Not yet. But I will. I must.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I remember. You are enthralled. You are possessed.”
Ashmoore’s eyes widened.
Northwick turned red.
Was that to have been a secret between them? How had he said it? I will admit this, only to you of course... Dear heavens!
She held up a hand. “I apologize. I had forgotten you said such things in confidence. Please forgive me.”
“No need. It is perfectly true. But she must be protected also. Therefore I must go on looking. And while I am searching, Ashmoore can see to your safety as I cannot.”
“Because you will be hunting for your lady love.”
“Because he is the best man for the job.” He sounded as if he believed it, but the admission caused him pain.
“But if I am not out in public, he has no need to protect me.”
“He will protect you at home as well.” Northwick delivered his edict with no emotion whatsoever.
“In my home? Absolutely not!” The last thing she needed was an audience making her father nervous. The man deserved his peace. “What reason could I possibly give my father?”
“The truth. Your father will appreciate the truth. And he will appreciate the fact that his daughter is well looked after.” Northwick knocked on the carriage wall and they started moving again. “I think we should shop somewhere cheerful this morning. Madame Bouchard’s?”
The light tone in his voice was a bit forced. She had embarrassed him in front of his friend. He could be no happier to proceed on their morning excursion than she was.
“I have no need of the latest fashions, Lord Northwick.” She hoped he would adopt the excuse and turn the carriage ‘round, but she knew, the moment he was out of her sight once again, she would be wishing him back.
“Ah, my lady, but you do.” Ashmoore sat forward. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me to a small dinner party Saturday evening? At the home of our friend, The Viscount Forsgreen?”
A laugh bubbled up from some forgotten sunny corner and she relaxed instantly. “You mean the famous Viscount F?”
“The very same. He is determined to show his fiancée that he is capable of domestic tranquility. But we all fear he cannot do so without help.”
“You are quite the band of brothers, are you not?”
“We are.”
“Are we?” Northwick interjected. “I have yet to hear of this intimate dinner party.”
Ashmoore straightened. “But of course not, North. Even Viscount F does not know about it yet.” He turned back to Livvy and dug her hand out from beneath the blanket to enclose it between both of his own. “But if I am to help introduce this young lady back into society, I had best get started.”
She tried to pull her hand away, but the earl held tight. Finally, she glanced at Northwick to see how he was reacting to his friend turning so...friendly with her. But the man was back to looking out the window. His strong jaw flexed beneath his clean-shaven skin. Was he thinking about her father’s comments? Ashmoore’s teasing? Or the fact that his friend was holding her hand?
She flattered herself to even imagine it; he was thinking about that writer woman. He was in love, enthralled! And for all her trying, she could not seem to take consolation in the fact that his writer woman was she!
As for Ashmoore, the man seemed satisfied enough to let her hand slip free after a moment or two, then he sat back with a wink. For a man who seemed naturally inclined to wear a scowl, he had certainly found their ride entertaining. Either he reveled in his friend’s discomfort—which could not be true of such dear friends—or he was not right in the head.
She looked into his eyes, searching for some sign of lunacy, even though she had no idea what those signs might resemble. He stared back, unflinching.
Northwick growled. Ashmoore laughed in response.
Heaven help her. She was penned inside a carriage with a pair of mad men.
Chapter 18
North had enjoyed a fine night’s sleep, which was a mira
cle considering he had planned to hand his Plumiere into Ashmoore’s hands that morning. At the last moment he had weakened and caught her in the doorway, waiting for some miracle to present itself. But obviously he had used his miracle allotment for the week.
Livvy needed protection and he wanted her as safe as possible. A second-hand body guard who might succumb to a dark oblivion in the midst of a fight, was no protection at all. So it was a lucky turn of fate that there was no other woman out there in need of protecting. Ashmoore was performing double duty and he was not even aware of it.
Again, it would be much simpler to confess his knowledge to them both so he might end the pretense, but deep in his soul he felt it imperative that he win her heart first. That feat would now be doubly difficult to accomplish after placing her in the care of someone else, so he had to resign himself; he needed to wait to woo her after the threats were negated.
Surely he had the fortitude to hold off.
After what she’d revealed about Gordon, there was no doubt in his mind her former fiancé would be slinking back into town at any moment, anticipating the unmasking of The Scarlet Plumiere. Marquardt was less of a worry. The man had been accused of murder and fled. Eliminating The Scarlet Plumiere would do nothing to recover his reputation and might even worsen it.
Gordon was the enemy on the horizon. But from which horizon would he come? All roads led to London. He could arrive from any direction. And what of the menace the woman faced in the city? What a fool he had been not to recognize the threat she faced from those gentlemen who had shown up for the lottery, men whose secrets were still well hidden, but who felt the need to protect them.
Best for her to be protected at all times, and by someone capable of doing so. He was hardly a candidate. Of course he held his own on the Peninsula, but he hadn’t been able to save himself in the end, had he? He’d survived his ordeal only because his friends were too stubborn to give up the search. And when Ashmoore had found him, even in his defeated state, he had been able to rise to the occasion and take his revenge before collapsing. The journey home was a fuzzy memory of waking to excruciating pain when his back had been tended. But gratefully, losing consciousness was a talent he had honed.
