Ready Set Rogue

by Manda Collins

  Perhaps because she’d asked about the tonic, and Ivy expected the old woman might wish to rattle her, Ivy had prepared herself for something dire. Or at the very least, something mysterious. But something about the old woman’s pronouncement chilled her to the bone.

  “What do you mean?” she asked dumbly, staring down at her palm as if it would tell her what the gypsy woman was talking about.

  “From the moment you speak,” Madame Albinia said with a frown, “I see the light around you. But many people, they have the light. But I bring you here, into the vardo to see for sure. And for the tonic.” As if reminded of the request for the tisane ingredients, the woman began to gather items from the various bottles and jars on the shelving.

  When she’d finished gathering the ingredients, she named them off as she added them into a jar. “Lemongrass, feverfew, chamomile, and mint.”

  Momentarily distracted from the dire fortune the woman had given her, Ivy asked, “That’s it?”

  Despite her seriousness, the old woman grinned. “Did you expect magic beans? The Rom have the gift, but we use the fruits of the earth too. There is nothing otherworldly about the tonic. Only knowing what herbs to put together.”

  Ivy smiled ruefully. “I suppose I was expecting some sort of special quality that would explain its effectiveness.”

  “And its poisonous effect, as well, lady?” Madame Albinia asked with a keen look. At Ivy’s shocked sound, she gave a slight smile. “I hear things. And when Albinia’s tonic is used as poison, it angers her. This one, the one you seek, they are not what you think.”

  “What do you mean?” Ivy asked, desperate to know anything that might help them find Lady Celeste’s killer.

  “I do not know exactly,” she said, “but the reasons for killing the Lady Celeste, they are from long ago. And they know you seek them. It is why you are in danger. If you wish to remain safe, you should go with your man away from here.”

  Ivy’s gaze sharpened. “Who are they?”

  But the seer only shook her head and repeated, “You should go.”

  Before Ivy could repeat her entreaty, they were interrupted by Quill, who stepped up onto the ladder and peered inside.

  “Almost finished in here?” Quill asked with a cheerfulness that didn’t meet his eyes. Clearly he’d sensed something was amiss.

  As if she’d expected him, Madame Albinia nodded. Turning to Ivy she said aloud, “Remember what I say. Or there will be great heartache.”

  With a speaking look, she handed the jar of tonic ingredients to Ivy and waved her away, as if she no longer had the energy to talk to them.

  Quill’s mouth was tight as he listened to the fortune teller, but he said nothing until they were out of the vardo. “What did she mean ‘heartache’?” he asked with a scowl.

  But Ivy wasn’t sure she wished to share what Madame Albinia had told her yet. At least not until she’d had a few minutes alone to think about it. As if she feared speaking the words aloud would give them power. Seeking to reassure him, however, she said, “Of course it was nonsense. All danger and long journies, just like she gave the others.”

  “Then why did you look so stricken when I came in?” he asked with suspicion, clearly sensing that she was prevaricating. “Your face is ghostly white.”

  But she waved that away. “Oh, I felt a little faint. It was quite warm in there.”

  She could tell he didn’t want to let it go, but was saved from further discussion by their arrival at the horse chestnut tree where the others had gathered.

  “Did you get your tonic ingredients?” Lady Daphne asked with a raised brow. “I was afraid for a moment that she’d cast some sort of spell over you and we’d need to rescue you. Lord Kerr was happy enough to go in after you, however, so you were saved from a stampede.”

  “What do you know of stampedes?” asked Maitland with a snort. “And what is a stampede if it comes to that? Something with a lot of people, I can guess, but what?”

  Daphne rolled her eyes as the rest of the party laughed.

  “I did get them, as it happens,” Ivy said once they’d settled. She held up the jar. “Would you believe it’s nothing more than common herbs we could have gathered ourselves?”

  “I am shocked,” Gemma said with mock surprise. “Shocked I tell you. That a gypsy woman would pass off a healing potion as something magical when it is in fact ancient and easily known. Why, next you’ll tell us that our fortunes were untrue.”

  “Come over here by me, Gemma,” said Daphne with approval. “We who hold logic and science in high regard should stick together.”

  “Oh, don’t be smug, ladies,” Sophia said slipping her arm through Ivy’s. “Just because Ivy and I are more interested in art and language than in your boring old numbers and rocks doesn’t mean that we are simpletons. It takes a great deal of skill to look at a painting and know if it is any good, just as I imagine it takes skill for Ivy to examine a few lines of Greek and determine if they came from a famous poet or a simple fishmonger.”

  “It is doubtful that a fishmonger would’ve been able to write,” Ivy said with an apologetic smile, “but I think the spirit of your argument holds true.”

  The chatter of her friends did much to dispel the aura of ill portent that had seemed to follow her out of the little caravan. And as they walked back toward the path to Beauchamp House she let their wordplay punctuated by the occasional quip from the duke distract her from what Madame Albinia had told her about Lady Celeste’s murder, as well as the warning that she herself was in danger.

  Soon, however, she fell back and before long—just as they had done on the way to the clearing—she found herself walking alone with Quill, some distance behind the others.

  “What did she really tell you, Ivy?” he asked, his blue eyes shadowed with worry. “Because I don’t believe it was just the same sort of claptrap she told the others. Was it something to do with the person who killed Aunt Celeste?”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t strictly as innocuous as I told the others it was,” Ivy said reluctantly. “But I was hoping to think it over for a bit.”

  “So that you could twist it into something innocuous?” he asked, with brows drawn.

  “Not in so many words.” She bristled. “But more that I wished to think about it. To make sense of it. Because it might not be as dark as what I interpreted it to be.”

  “You’d best just say before you truly worry me,” he said gently. “Because at this point I’m suspecting the worst. And I don’t even truly believe in such things.”

  “She said that I was in—”

  And almost as soon as the words left Ivy’s mouth she heard a loud report from the trees on either side of the path, and she felt a sharp pain in her upper arm just before Quill threw her to the ground.

  * * *

  All of Quill’s senses were on alert as he crashed to the ground, shielding Ivy with his body. He scanned the trees on either side of the path, trying to determine where the shot had come from. The windy day made it impossible to tell which of the moving branches was from human motion and which from the breeze. Up ahead he could hear the whimpers of the other ladies, and Maitland’s order for them to stay down.

  Beneath him, Ivy was breathing heavily, but she kept silent, either too shocked to talk or sensing that he needed quiet to tell where the bastard was.

  When several minutes passed without another shot, Quill eased off of her. “I think it’s safe now,” he said, still scanning the area to ensure that he hadn’t been premature in his assessment. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so,” she said, her face pale, but standing easily enough when he gave her a hand up. Wordlessly, he brushed the leaves and twigs from the skirt of her gown, using the contact to reassure himself that she was, indeed unharmed. “Please tell me that was just a hunter making a wild shot.”

  He wished that he had the words to erase the stricken look in her green eyes, but Quill didn’t think lying would make things any easier for her. “
I’m afraid that’s unlikely,” he said, pulling her to him in a quick hug. “This is not precisely an area known for good hunting.”

  “Were either of you hit?” Maitland demanded as he and the other three ladies backtracked toward them.

  “No,” Quill said, glancing up at them. “You?”

  “No,” Maitland said, his usual lighthearted expression replaced with grim anger. “Not for lack of trying. Who the hell would be out shooting on a commonly used footpath?” His question didn’t need an answer. They all knew that no one with any sense would.

  “We need to get back to the house at once,” Quill said, reaching for Ivy’s arm. But her cry of pain made him stop. “Did you hurt yourself in the fall?” he asked, moving to get a look at her upper arm, which she was probing it with her fingers.

  “I don’t know,” she said frowning. “I did feel something, but it happened so quickly I’m unsure of whether it happened before or after I fell.”

  Her hand came away covered in blood, and Quill uttered a low curse. “You’re hit, damn it.”

  And even as he spoke, she swayed on her feet, whether from blood loss or pain he could not tell. In one swift move she was in his arms. “We have to get her to the house at once.”

  “Here,” Maitland said, pressing his handkerchief against the wound, which was bleeding slowly but steadily now. “I’ll run ahead and send for the doctor. Do you want me to send the carriage?”

  “It will take too long,” Quill said, his mind entirely focused on the task at hand. “We’ve only half a mile or so to go.”

  With a nod, Maitland headed in a jog toward Beauchamp House.

  “She said I was in danger,” Ivy said, resting her head against his shoulder as Quill carried her past familiar landmarks but seeing none of them.

  “Who said, Ivy?” Sophia asked, from where she hurried along beside them, flanked by Daphne and Gemma.

  “Madame Albinia,” Ivy said in a weak voice. “Told me I was in danger. They know I’m looking for them.”

  “Whom are you looking for?” Daphne asked, her voice puzzled. “I think her mind is disordered. She’s not making any sense.”

  But Quill knew precisely whom Ivy was looking for.

  A murderer who would not hesitate to kill again.

  He should never have let her go into that gypsy caravan alone. He’d suspected the old woman was up to something, but if he’d guessed she would’ve put Ivy in real danger, he would never have allowed the visit at all. Hell, from the start he should have told her he would search for Celeste’s killer. He’d been blinded by his attraction to her. His sense of fairness had told him she deserved to be in on the hunt since Celeste had asked her personally to see to it in her letter. But fairness be damned, he fumed. He had gone against his instincts as a gentleman and look where it had got them.

  “It hurts, Quill,” she said, moving her head restlessly against him. “So much.”

  That the stubborn woman he’d argued with that morning was admitting as much was an indication of just how much the wound must be paining her.

  “I know, darling,” he said softly, all but running now, grateful that the path was so deeply ingrained in him that he could have walked it blindfolded. “We’ll be at the house in a few minutes and we’ll give you something for the pain.”

  “Should have listened to her,” she muttered, her breath soft against his throat. “Told me they’re after me, but I didn’t believe her. Thought it was gypsy piffle.”

  “I’ll keep you safe, Aphrodite,” he said in a low voice. He hadn’t managed to today, but that was because his guard was down. But he’d be damned if he’d let the blackguard who killed his aunt harm Ivy again. If that meant finding him and beating him within an inch of his life, then so much the better.

  She laughed in a soft whimper against him. “Only one who calls me that,” she said in a wavering voice that ended in a moan of pain.

  “Because you are a goddess,” he said gently. “My love.”

  He didn’t care if the others heard him. And if they did they gave no indication as they trudged on behind him.

  Finally, he saw the roof of the house come into view and, buoyed by the sight, he increased his pace. And when Maitland came hurrying toward them, directing a pair of footmen with a litter, he shook his head. “I’ve made it this far with her,” he said in an impatient tone. “I’ll get her into the house.”

  “Dr. Vance has been sent for and should be here soon,” Maitland said, walking at a fast clip beside him. “Serena has the maids bringing hot water to her bedchamber, and her maid is ready to help as needed.”

  “Thank you,” he said to his cousin, knowing he could have asked for no better man to assist him in this situation.

  Soon they were bounding up the stairs and into the house. Moving past gawking servants who seemed to overrun the hallway, he took Ivy up the main staircase and finally into her bedchamber.

  “Here, Quill,” Serena said, waiting at the bedside. “Put her down here.”

  His arms and back were aching like mad, but he didn’t feel them until after he’d gently deposited Ivy onto the bed. If it weren’t for Maitland following close behind him, he’d have sunk to the floor.

  “Come on, old chap,” his cousin said in a soothing voice. “She’s safe now. Let’s get you a chair.”

  “I’m not leaving her,” Quill said in a harsh voice, though he was too weak to break way from the other man’s steadying arm.

  “Just come into the dressing room for a moment while they undress her,” Maitland said as he led him to the doorway leading into the small room. “We all know you intend to marry her, but one mustn’t flout convention before the servants. Shameful lack of imagination they’ve got.”

  Maitland prattled on in similar fashion as he shut the door behind them and—from where Quill didn’t stop to wonder—produced a decanter and two glasses and proceeded to pour.

  “I find there’s nothing like a jot of brandy to ease the nerves in a situation like this,” he said, handing Quill a generous helping. “Drink it up like a good lad.”

  Doing as he was told, Quill swallowed the fiery liquid and found himself reviving a little, though his legs chose that moment to let him know they needed a rest. Dropping into a chair that was far too small for a man of his size, he brushed a hand over his forehead, the enormity of what had happened suddenly threatening to crush him.

  “Someone tried to kill her, Dalton,” he said, reverting to his cousin’s given name, as he’d called him when they were boys. Closing his eyes against the memory of the shot and his immediate instinct to get Ivy down as quickly as possible, he said in a hoarse voice, “What if I’d lost her?”

  Unbidden, the memory of the near miss on that momentous journey back from the village rose in his mind. And what of the bronze statue that had almost hit her at the Northman dinner party?

  He’d marked them down as accidents, but now he wasn’t so sure. Had someone been trying to kill her all this time? The very idea chilled him to the bone.

  Sighing, the duke crouched before him. “But you didn’t lose her. She’s well. In no small part because you had her out of harm’s way before another shot could hit her.”

  “Wasn’t fast enough,” Quill said, shaking his head. “She’s hurt because of me.”

  “She’s hurt because some idiot with a pistol decided to take aim at her,” Maitland said firmly. “If you weren’t there she would very likely be dead now. Instead she’s got a flesh wound that will likely hurt like the devil for a week or two and then will be forgotten. That’s because of you.”

  Quill tried to get his mind around the idea that he’d saved her, but he could only think of how his decision to let her investigate had nearly got her killed.

  “I’m going to find him, Dalton,” he said grimly. “And he will pay for what he did this day. And what he did to Aunt Celeste.”

  “And I’ll be by your side when you do it,” Maitland agreed with a nod. “I’ll even help you bury the d
amned body. But right now, your lady needs you to keep a level head. And to keep from getting yourself killed.”

  Brushing his hand over his face, he knew his cousin was right. He drained his glass and set it down on a nearby shelf.

  “Do you think they’re finished yet?” he asked, staring at the door as if trying to detect what was happening on the other side through sheer force of will.

  “There’s one way to find out,” said Maitland, rising to his feet and draining his own glass.

  Quill stood too and opened the dressing room door.

  Chapter 25

  Ivy hissed as Serena and Polly tried to ease off her pelisse.

  “I am sorry, miss,” the maid said in a stricken tone, “but the ball pushed the cloth into the wound. I’ll fetch a scissors to cut around it.”

  Soon, after some further moments of pain, Ivy was dressed in a clean shift, with the bedclothes pulled up over her bosom for propriety’s sake, as Dr. Vance inspected her upper arm. “The good news, Miss Wareham,” he said as he gestured for Serena to place the lamp he’d used to better see the wound on a nearby table, “is that the ball went straight through. So, while I know it hurts quite badly, at least there is no need for me to dig around in your arm to retrieve it.”

  At that description, Ivy felt the room spin a little.

  “Unfortunately,” Dr. Vance continued as he opened the black bag he’d carried into the room with him, “there is the matter of the fabric in the wound. I’m afraid removing it will be quite painful. So, be a good girl and drink this laudanum and you won’t feel it a bit.”

  But Ivy shook her head, though the motion made her feel a little ill. “No laudanum,” she protested. “It makes me violently ill.”

  “But my dear girl,” the doctor chided, “the pain will feel a great deal worse, I can assure you. Come now, be sensible.”

  “If she says she doesn’t want laudanum, doctor”—Quill’s voice broke in—“then she shan’t have it.” The relief Ivy felt was so great, she sank back against the pillows with the force of it. Her agitation gone now that she knew Quill was there to fight for her.