Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 1 of 2

by Sophia James

  Her eyes darted away, but not before Inigo saw real fear in her gaze. It gave him pause and generated a genuine concern he’d not expected or wanted to feel for her. She made a compelling case. It was reshaping how he saw her: not as the carefree girl he’d known in her youth, nor as the enemy he’d seen her as after Collin’s death. For the first time, he was seeing her as a pawn, a young woman caught in the web of her father’s deceit, unable to help herself. But he must go carefully down this new road and look beyond the emotion of her situation. There must be logic to it as well.

  ‘Why not marry Tremblay and let him put an end to your father’s pressure? Surely Tremblay’s title will protect you if you want to break from your father.’ Inigo paused, wanting to be fair. ‘Tremblay is fond of you. He cares for you. He would help you.’ It was hard to utter that truth when temptation stood before him, rousing all his old demons and desires against his better self, and this time there was no Collin to prevent it. This time, Audevere needed him; she’d come to him.

  Audevere shook her head. ‘To marry Tremblay is to ruin him. My father will use me to keep Tremblay close, to force him to use his influence as my father forced Collin. If Tremblay cares for me, it will be even worse. He’ll give in to my father, thinking he is protecting me.’

  She wanted to protect Tremblay. She was willing to give him up in order to achieve that. Was there real affection there that he had overlooked? Slowly, he asked the awkward question, the answer to which he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear. Wanting or not wanting to marry him wasn’t the same as loving him. ‘Do you love Tremblay?’

  She sighed and gave him a sad look. ‘What is love, Inigo? Is it the ephemeral passions found in fairy tales? If so, then, no. I don’t love him. Is it something less fiery? Something akin to caring, to not wanting to see him brought down by my father’s greed and underhanded dealings? Then, yes.’

  ‘Protection is not love.’ Inigo crossed his arms over his chest. She protected herself, she sought to protect Tremblay just as he sought to protect his own friends. Before tonight, it was not an attribute he’d thought to have in common with this woman he’d taught himself to look upon as an adventuress. ‘Protection is the civility one citizen owes another. It is what keeps society from being entirely corrupt.’

  ‘Protection is what I want from you, Inigo. Tremblay cannot give it to me. He will not want me when this is done. Whatever fondness he believes he feels for me now, he will be glad to have escaped.’ She met him with a challenge in her stare. ‘Will you give me the protection I seek by helping me vanish?’

  Her tone made it clear she wanted an answer tonight. Now. But he could not afford to rush headlong to her defence, no matter how vulnerable she seemed in the moment. Stern stoicism and neutrality were his best weapons out here on the veranda, alone with her—a woman who had learned the art of persuasion at her father’s knee and roused him beyond measure. ‘I have questions.’

  ‘Then come inside and dance with me. I will answer them. My five minutes is up and people will notice if we remain out here much longer.’ It was a skilful manoeuvre. He could see her hope that this would be a slippery slope towards acceptance of her request. What she could not command outright from him, she thought to cajole out of him in slow steps. Was she that sure of her charms or was she that sure of him? The last made him uneasy. While they had been almost constantly in one another’s company all those years ago through their association with Collin, surely he was not an open book to her? Surely she did not guess his darkest secret? He kept it well buried. Not even his closest friends had guessed.

  ‘As you wish.’ He made her a short bow and ushered her indoors, his hand light at her back as he led her on to the dance floor. He would touch her as little as necessary, although the waltz required far more touching than most dances. Perhaps, his agile, suspicious mind whispered, she understood that most basic aspect of charm: touch persuaded where words might fail. When people touched, they confessed; they capitulated. Touch was dangerous, powerful.

  He put a hand to her waist, her own hand resting on his shoulder, comfortable and firm. She slid her other hand into his with an enviable certainty that it belonged there. There were no light, perfunctory touches from her. Sweet heavens, when was the last time a woman had tried this successfully to seduce him? Was that what she was doing or was he doing that all by himself, reading too much into the smallest nuance? It was the price one paid for being a cynic, he supposed. One always had to look at all the angles. One could never take anything at face value.

  The music began and he moved them into the dance. One, two, three, one, two, three. She was light in his arms and confident on her feet. He remembered she liked to dance. She knew she was good at it. Eyes that had been dagger sharp on the veranda sparkled with enjoyment now. ‘Ask your questions, Inigo. The dance won’t last for ever and I don’t think we can afford two at this juncture.’

  That was the dilemma, of course. What could he really afford with her? Could he afford not to believe her? To assume the worst and let her find her own level? On the other hand, could he afford to believe her? Beneath her soft words this evening, there was a darker reality. In taking up her offer to thwart Brenley, he was letting her own self-professed naivety exonerate her. Inigo wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Was Audevere Brenley manipulating him with her plea or was she as desperate as she seemed behind her bold mask?

  ‘Inigo, I have told you the truth. Why do you resist?’ She was all soft, feminine perfection in the asking. For a moment his resolve faltered.

  ‘You want me to help you and yet you jilted my best friend and helped bring about his death. I hardly know what to make of your request. Surely you must see that. You are the daughter of a manipulating tyrant. I must at least entertain the notion that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’

  Soft femininity dissolved. He’d angered the goddess within again. ‘You know nothing of me and what my life has been like. I think it would surprise you greatly. Whatever I have done, I have done for self-preservation.’

  ‘As you do this thing now? This attempt to run from your past?’ It was time to lay out his terms. ‘If I’m to help you, I need complete honesty. Can you give me that?’

  ‘Yes. What I tell you will be the complete truth.’

  Inigo did not miss the slightest of hesitations as she clearly debated with herself over how to define her answer so that it wasn’t a lie. ‘That’s not what I was hoping for, Miss Brenley.’ He could tell she sought to retain the right to omit painful truths, but he would not give her that ground. If they were trust each other, he had to know she was not working against him in any way.

  She tossed her head, the light of the Bradfords’ Venetian chandeliers picking out the diamond chips in her tiara. There it was: more self-preservation. He would test that honesty now. ‘Why come to me? Surely our recent past doesn’t recommend us as likely allies.’ Those were the politest terms he could use to frame the animosity between him and Brenley—and by extension her. Although, it was proving difficult to remember that tonight when faced with this desperate, penitent version of her, this woman who saw, albeit belatedly, the truth of who her father was and what he had done, and her own role, whether unwittingly or not, in facilitating his actions. Was that the truth or a façade?

  She was ready for him, ‘On the contrary, I think it makes us the most likely of allies. I want to stop being used as my father’s tool and you hate Gismond Brenley.’

  Hate was an understatement. The man was a murderer in Inigo’s opinion. But it wasn’t reason enough for her to have sought him, of all people, out, not with the sordid past that lay between them. The canny minx would have to do better than that. ‘A lot of people hate Gismond Brenley.’ Inigo took them through the next turn with a burst of speed, his hand tightening at her back out of frustrated emotion.

  ‘You’re not afraid of him, Inigo. That’s what makes you different. You stopped him from t
aking Eliza Blaxland’s mines. You were relentless last year on her behalf, but it wasn’t enough for you, was it? You still want revenge for Collin.’ She paused, whetting her lips. ‘You want a life for a life. What could be more fitting than stealing me away from him in retribution for him having stolen Collin from you?’

  Dear lord, she saw too much. He wished her gaze would move over his shoulder where it belonged instead of fixed on him with those aventurine eyes, green pools that begged him to drown in them. He imagined when she raged they turned to turbulent whirlpools, sucking down everything in their path. But those eyes were her flaw as well. She was too transparent. A smart man could read her a mile away. She hid nothing if a man was wise enough to look, wise enough to avoid being misled by the sheer beauty of her. He hoped he was wise enough. Tonight he saw desperation behind her bold words. She was striking hard and fast because her need was real and time was of the essence. At least that was what he wanted to believe.

  He turned them at the bottom of the ballroom, cutting past another couple. ‘What you’re asking for is more than just buying out board members and replacing them with my own minions. Do you know what it will mean to disappear?’

  ‘It means I will be free. That I can’t be used again.’ Her chin went up a fraction in defiant anticipation of his argument. He did not let the point of that chin deter him.

  ‘It means you will be alone, at the mercy of the world. It means you will be without the luxuries you are used to and no resources beyond your body with which to acquire them.’ He spared no mercy in his assessment. She might be stopping one marriage, but she might be setting herself up for a less savoury one.

  ‘I assure you, I know exactly what I’m doing.’ Her tones were crisp, fierce. He wondered if she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. What she proposed was audacious in the extreme. She knew it and she was wise enough to fear it.

  ‘Then you’re one step ahead of me,’ Inigo rejoindered. ‘I’m still trying to answer my first question. Why should I join forces with you? You say you can help me achieve revenge, strike out at your father by helping you disappear.’ They were running out of time, the dance nearly done. Only one more pass of the ballroom remained to them. ‘But the truth is, he cannot know who helped you. It would jeopardise your ability to remain beyond his reach. So, I ask you again. Why should I help you?’

  Her eyes glittered dangerously, the only warning he had before she played her ace. ‘Because it’s the right thing to do. You are the most honourable man I’ve met and stopping my father is the honourable thing to do. You were Collin’s best friend. He would want you to help me.’ Her hard emerald eyes softened. ‘And if those reasons aren’t enough, I would call on one more. Once upon a time, you didn’t hate me. Once, despite all your efforts to the contrary, you liked me, just a little, and I would call on the memory of that fondness now in the hour of my greatest need.’

  The last of his resolve crumbled. So that was how it was to be: for honour, for loyalty, for love—although she had not called it that, did not guess that she could call it that—he would set aside his misgivings and do her bidding, risky as it was for both of them. There was no guarantee that helping her escape would get her what she wanted.

  The waltz ended and Inigo was aware of Brenley’s gaze on them. ‘Your father is watching us. What will you tell him?’ He whispered the words close to her ear, allowing himself the luxury of breathing in the amber-and-nutmeg scent of her.

  She smiled, for a moment simultaneously coy and innocent, her eyes only playing at naivety. ‘I will tell him I’m trying to bring Viscount Tremblay up to scratch as he’s asked and that I’m doing it by waltzing with the most eligible man here.’ It wasn’t untrue as far as it went. ‘He’ll like the notion of creating competition.’ She squeezed his hand and whispered, ‘Inigo, thank you for this. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you. When I need you, I’ll send word.’

  Then she was gone, back to the sidelines, out of his reach until next time, her task a fait accompli. He was in bed with his enemy’s daughter, his dead best friend’s fiancée and a host of ghosts from his past. Heaven help him. He was going to need a bigger bed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘You were waltzing with the enemy.’ There was nothing like a sharp condemnation from her father to pierce the euphoria of her little victory. His grip dug into the bare flesh of her arm as he tugged her behind a potted palm and out of sight. But Audevere had expected no less. Nothing escaped her father’s attention. It was the price she had to pay for securing Inigo’s help.

  ‘All aristocrats are your enemy, Father.’ She gave a light laugh. ‘If I didn’t dance with your foes, I’d never dance at all. Don’t you always say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’ She held her breath and waited for his response, watching him carefully for a sign he suspected she was hiding something. He would be ruthless if he thought she was trying to play him false. She was counting on his arrogance to get her through this first hurdle. He was too sure of himself and too sure of her—or rather his hold over her—to doubt her loyalty.

  His face relaxed and he chuckled. ‘I see I have an apt apprentice in you, my dear. Keeping your enemies close indeed, especially with that one. Tintagel is particularly dangerous, him and those Cornish Dukes.’ Her father disliked many men, but at the top of his list were the four Cornish Dukes, men who loved their families, who were devoted to personally raising their heirs and believed it was their duty to provide for the civic welfare of their communities with wide-sweeping projects and reforms that benefitted people, not purses. They were selfless men who put others first. In short, they stood for everything her father despised; they held as ideals the values he saw as weaknesses.

  His laugh faded and he eyed her again. ‘What business could we have in drawing Tintagel near?’ He was testing her, but she was prepared.

  ‘To ensure he doesn’t interfere with my betrothal to Tremblay, of course. Now he knows that we know what he tried to do with his meeting at White’s. Perhaps now we’ve gained a little of our own back by driving a wedge between the two friends,’ she argued shrewdly, hating herself for the lies, hating even more the ease with which those lies came to her. Inigo’s comment about the apple not falling far from the tree smarted. She didn’t want him to be right. She was only lying now out of self-preservation. ‘Maybe Tremblay will feel there is competition, a challenger who comes from the ranks of his friends, the very friend who tried to warn him away. Perhaps Tremblay will question Tintagel’s motives in giving that warning. Perhaps he’ll disregard it, thinking that his friend meant to woo me for himself.’

  ‘Very astute, Daughter.’ Her father nodded his approval. ‘While we’re keeping Tintagel close, it wouldn’t hurt to winkle out a secret or two. I’d like some leverage over him. Those Cornish Dukes act as if they’re squeaky clean, but no one’s that spotless. Everyone has skeletons; some people just bury them deeper.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Audevere could hardly say less without arousing suspicion, but her mind was already chanting, time to go, time to go. It was past time, really.

  He grinned and released her arm. ‘You are my daughter in truth; blood will always tell.’ She smiled as if his approval was something she coveted and was relieved when he excused himself to the card rooms.

  At last she could draw an easy breath; at last she could allow herself a moment’s celebration. She’d been brave. She’d put her plan in motion. Inigo Vellanoweth would help her. And in the morning the real work could begin at last. She needed to arrange for what funds she could, convert what she had to cash, decide what to take with her, decide where to go. Audevere was thankful for the solid substance of the wall at her back, for the privacy of the palms that let her slouch with the audacity of her plans. She’d been quick in her answer to Inigo tonight: that she understood the magnitude of her plans and their consequences. She did understand them
in theory. It was the practice that was overwhelming.

  Her life was about to change drastically. She told herself she wouldn’t mind. She’d be free…if she succeeded. If she failed, though, she would not get a second chance. Her father was not built for forgiveness, not even for his own daughter. Succeed or fail, she’d be cut off from her only living family, entirely alone in the world. There was little elation in that thought, although she wasn’t certain why it should bother her. Wasn’t she already alone? Her father was hardly any type of father at all, but a man who used his daughter to further his own interests, blackmailed her with the fear of having her darkest secrets exposed as if she were just another of his hapless victims, encouraged her to entertain men of his choosing and implicated her in his schemes against her will.

  She smoothed her skirts and returned to the ball. She wanted to dance until she forgot her worries. She had partners aplenty and she danced until she was breathless and exhausted. But no partner seemed to match Inigo’s skill and yet every partner reminded her of him in what they lacked. Her partners became a string of opposites—they looked decorously away, not daring to meet her gaze, where Inigo’s eyes had pierced hers, pale, blue and all-seeing as if they could see into her very soul. She’d forgotten how unique his eyes were, so unique they had their own name—Boscastle blue—handed down from generations of Boscastle dukes. The years had changed him, honed the young man she’d known who’d preferred dark corners into a handsome, striking man who would not go unnoticed in any room. He was a sharp man, too, in all ways. Inigo’s words had cut through to the truth where her other partners made useless small talk.