“Are you?” one of the youths demanded.
The stranger simply held up a hand to reveal a ring. A small ruby glittered from the middle of the crossed sword and rose pattern that Rome had seen others at the party wear. The petulant murmurs ceased at once, and a hush fell over the group.
“I am your judgment, boy,” the swordsman said to the one who had spoken. “I bring punishment to those who would put our order in danger.”
The young man who had spoken dropped his gaze to the ground.
“What is it?” Rose whispered, creeping up beside him. Her small hand curled around his arm as she struggled to see through the shrubbery.
“Be very quiet,” Rome murmured. His instincts urged him to disarm the swordsman, but his intellect prevailed. He was unarmed. Observation was needed at the moment.
But should this fellow use his sword on anything but china, he would act. He would protect Peter. And Rose.
“Are you mad,” the swordsman hissed, “to meet together like this? So many of you in one place?” He swept all the youths with an angry glare.
“We didn’t think,” Peter spoke up. “It seemed harmless at the time…”
“It is not harmless. Only the fact that you chose a masked event has saved your miserable lives.”
“That’s not fair!” someone exclaimed.
“You know the rules.” The interloper stabbed a piece of pear with his sword and held it aloft. “You do not meet until you are told.” With a flick of his wrist, he sent the pear slice winging into the darkness. “Now go, all of you. Should you entertain such foolishness again, it will be one of you I skewer.”
“But—” one red-haired lad protested.
The black-clad man pointed his sword at the speaker, advancing on him with alarming speed until the tip just touched his throat. “I am in charge here.”
“Yes, sir.” The youth swallowed nervously.
“Unless,” the stranger hissed, “you mean to challenge me for my position.”
Silence reigned.
“Is that it?” the swordsman prodded. “You mean to challenge me for my position in the Triad?”
The young man’s eyes widened, and he carefully shook his head.
“No? I thought not.” He withdrew the sword and turned on his heel, stalking toward the table. “Be gone, all of you. Unless you want to taste my blade in combat.”
The young men scrambled to obey, tripping over the broken china and bumping into each other. They fled into the night, scattering in different directions. The swordsman stayed behind, his head cocked as if listening. After a moment, he prowled around the dining area, glancing behind columns and statuary. His gaze came to rest on the alcove where Rome watched.
Rome didn’t move. The fellow might suspect that someone else lingered nearby, or perhaps he was just extremely cautious. Either way, they didn’t dare risk discovery. He doubted a grown man like himself would be permitted to run off as the others had.
And he dared not think about what might happen to Rose.
Rome kept his breathing shallow and all but silent, standing as still as he could. After a long moment, the swordsman seemed to make some sort of decision. He turned on his heel and stalked from the dining area.
“Heavens,” Rose breathed.
“Quite.” Rome kept his eyes on the entryway in case the swordsman returned. “You did very well.”
“I was too petrified to move.” She stepped away from him, one hand over her heart.
“I believe he’s gone.” Rome turned back toward her. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Just frightened.”
“We’d best leave at once.” He tried to take her hand, but she pulled it out of reach. “Come on, now. This is no time for games.”
“I’m not playing any game. I told you, I changed my mind.”
He gave a growl of frustration. “We need to leave this place, sweet Rose. Then we can continue our conversation.”
“The conversation is finished. I have refused your offer, Rome. Now please have the good grace to accept my decision.”
“Damn it.” Any insistence now would make him seem a churl.
“I’m sorry.” Her smile revealed her genuine regret. “You’ve been kinder than I had reason to expect.”
“I’m not kind,” he grumbled. “I’m a gentleman. There’s a difference.”
She laughed, raising a hand to her throat. “In any case, you have treated me quite well for a woman of my…er…vocation. Now if we…good heavens!”
“What?”
She grabbed at her bare neck, then spun in a circle, staring at the ground. “My locket is gone!”
“I have it. The chain is broken.” He held it up, admiring the unique cameo for an instant. Then she snatched it from his hand.
“Thank you. This locket means the world to me.” She closed her fingers tightly around it.
Silence fell between them, an awkwardness he did not usually feel around women. “Are you certain you won’t change your mind?” he asked finally.
She shook her head no. “I do apologize. I’m not a…well, I’m not the type of woman to give a man false hope. I think it’s best if we simply part company and forget this night ever happened.”
“Can you forget?” He took a step closer to her, holding her gaze.
Her expression softened. “I have to.”
“But—”
“I must go.” She darted around him before he could move.
“Rose, wait!” He sprang after her as she slipped out of the alcove and hurried for the entryway to the dining area. “You shouldn’t go about alone.”
She paused for a moment in the doorway. “I dare not go about with you either.”
“Blast it, Rose. I said I wouldn’t force you.”
She gave a little laugh. “It’s not you I worry about.”
“This isn’t over, Rose.” He took a step toward her, barely able to contain himself from grabbing her like a madman. “I will find you, and we will finish what we’ve started.”
Her lips curved in a sad smile. “Good night, Rome.” Turning from him, she vanished into the darkened paths of Vauxhall.
Chapter 2
Anna awoke the next morning not knowing where she was. For one sleepy moment she thought of Anthony and reached for him with her heart. But there was nothing there.
Then memory flooded back, and her eyes popped open. Over a year ago, death had snapped the bond with her twin like a twig beneath a booted foot. Yet every morning she woke and expected to find him nearby, as he had always been, even before their birth. And every morning the bitter disappointment of her aloneness nearly choked her.
She raised her hand to her neck, but the locket that always comforted her was not there. Then she remembered. It lay across the room on the bureau, sparkling in the morning sunlight. She recalled Rome’s hand at her neck as the chain gave way…
Rome. Good heavens.
Anna fell back against the pillows, mortified, as memories of the previous night washed over her.
What had possessed her to allow a total stranger such liberties with her person? She laid a hand over her eyes, shocked at her own actions. She had followed that group of gentlemen to discover more about Anthony’s death, not to be mauled.
A twinge of guilt pricked her. All right, perhaps mauled was not the word. Molested? No, not quite right either.
Caressed?
A ripple of excitement shivered through her at the recollection of the astonishing sensations she had experienced. Not just caressed. Seduced. Thoroughly, indubitably seduced by a gentleman who knew exactly what he was about.
And despite the chagrin that arrived with the sunrise, a sense of giddy glee made her want to hold her secret close and giggle like a schoolgirl. Finally, she understood, a little bit, what all the fuss was about.
Wanton! She rolled over in bed, cheeks burning, and tried to push the shameful…shocking…delicious memories from her mind. She had no busi
ness reliving last night’s erotic adventures. She was an engaged woman—well, almost. She had no right to fantasize about a man who was not her future husband.
Instead, she should be concentrating on her brother.
The thought of Anthony sobered her as nothing else could. He must be her priority, scandalous escapades aside.
She swept back the covers and rose from bed to cross the room to the bureau. Picking up the broken locket, she flipped open the catch. Inside were two miniatures, one of her and one of Anthony.
The artist had captured her brother perfectly, from the devil-may-care grin to the sparkle of mischief in his brown eyes. His nearly black hair curled over his forehead like that of a little boy; he’d neglected to cut it, as usual. She smiled sadly, remembering how she’d badgered him about it. Then again, he’d only kept it unruly to annoy Papa.
The miniature of her was an older one, done when she was barely six. They’d both had their portraits painted that year, but Anthony had presented her with a more recent one of himself for her sixteenth birthday.
He’d always known exactly what she needed, always known the right thing to say. They were twins, completely in tune with one another’s thoughts and feelings. She wondered what he would have said about her actions last night.
As the first tear slid down her cheek, a soft knock came at the door. “Anna, dear? Are you awake?”
“Yes, Mama.” Sniffling, she glanced around for something with which to wipe her eyes as her mother opened the door.
Seeing her daughter’s tears, Henrietta Rosewood’s face creased in sympathy, and she produced a fine lace handkerchief. “There now, darling.”
Anna took the handkerchief with her free hand and dabbed at the moisture around her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Her mother’s gaze fell on the locket in her hand, and she gave a sigh. Taking the necklace, she glanced briefly at Anthony’s miniature, her own expression softening to one of longing. Then she shut the locket with a snap. She frowned as she noticed the broken clasp. “Anna, what has happened to your locket?”
“It broke last night.”
“I thought you said you had not encountered any brigands when you got lost last night?” Concern sharpened her tone as she led her daughter to the chair at the vanity table and sat her in it. “You told me that when you got separated from our party at Vauxhall that no one had accosted you.”
“That’s true.”
“Anna.” Henrietta folded her arms and gave her daughter a stern look that had served her well being married to a naval officer these many years. “Were you assaulted or not? How did your locket get broken? Heaven knows you haven’t taken it off in years.”
“I wasn’t assaulted, Mama. My locket broke when someone bumped into me.” Seduction didn’t count as assault, did it?
“Hmph.” For a moment, it seemed as if her mother didn’t believe her. Then she sighed, and Anna knew the danger had passed. Her mother placed the locket on the vanity table. “Well, we shall have to get it repaired then. I know how you treasure it.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“I shall see to it. In the meanwhile, you will stay at home today. We are going to Lord Haverford’s for dinner tonight, and I want you to look your best.”
Guilt surged anew at the mention of the man she had been promised to—but not officially betrothed to—since birth. “Yes, Mama.”
“Wear the yellow silk. It suits you.”
Anna made another sound of assent as her mother prattled on about how she should wear her hair and what jewelry would best complement the ensemble. Having heard the lecture many times, she didn’t attend quite as well as she should have.
“—and since we will be dining en famille with Lord Haverford this evening, I do not have to tell you to be your most charming, darling. You must make a good impression on his family. Your very future hangs in the balance.”
“What? The earl’s family is attending the dinner?”
“Yes.” Henrietta wandered over to the wardrobe and threw it open, regarding the dresses within. “His aunt and cousins will be joining us.”
“Goodness.” Her stomach fluttered as if butterflies had been let loose in it, and she pressed her palm to her belly.
Her mother caught sight of the motion and frowned. “You’re not ill, are you, Anna? You wouldn’t want his lordship to consider you sickly. Your father and I arranged this marriage so your future would be secure. But nothing is certain until Lord Haverford officially offers for you, and the papers are signed.”
“I know, Mama. And I do appreciate the fact that you and Papa have managed to give me such a wonderful opportunity.”
Henrietta sniffed in agreement. “Indeed, Lord Haverford is quite an eligible parti and would have been far above your reach had his father not been a childhood friend of your papa’s. You should be very grateful.”
“I am, Mama. Lord Haverford will make a fine husband.”
“And he’s young and attractive. You might have ended up married to someone much older and less agreeable.” Pursing her lips, Henrietta pushed aside one dress after another, mumbling to herself about hair and pearls.
Anna seized on her mother’s distraction to get her own emotions under control. She had always known she would become Lady Haverford, but lately everything seemed to be moving along rather quickly. The betrothal had always seemed something that would happen in the distant future. Suddenly that future had become the present, and she faced the reality of an engagement happening before the year was out. Perhaps even before the Season’s end.
“You will be receiving callers with me this morning,” her mother said, pulling a pale blue morning dress from the wardrobe. “I must say, your idea to travel to London was an excellent one. How clever of you to consider how you would appear to Society when you become a countess when you’ve never even had a London Season! I won’t have it said my daughter is a country bumpkin. No, I certainly will not.”
“I thought it might help,” Anna murmured. Though at the time she had meant it would help in the search for the truth about Anthony’s death, not help her to become a more polished wife for Lord Haverford.
“Where is that wretched Lizzie?” Henrietta asked in exasperation. “We can expect callers quite early, and you are not ready.”
“I’ll be ready, Mama. I promise.”
Henrietta made a sound of impatience. “I will send Lizzie to you right away. And she can bring a cold compress for your eyes.”
“Heavens, are they very red?” Anna turned to study her face in the mirror.
“Not very.” Her mother came over and laid a hand on her shoulder, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I miss him, too.”
Rendered mute by the emotion that clogged her throat, Anna squeezed her mother’s hand in a rare moment of mutual understanding. Then Henrietta turned and left the room, leaving her daughter alone with her thoughts.
Where the devil had Peter gotten to?
Rome stepped out of his carriage with a curt nod to the servant holding the door open for him. He stalked up the steps to his mother’s home and rapped the door knocker, frustration sharpening his every movement.
The harmless fencing club had changed before his eyes into something that could well prove dangerous. This morning he’d visited all Peter’s haunts and paid a call on his aunt. No one had heard from him all night. After the incident at Vauxhall, he was certain Peter had gone into hiding along with his cronies, and when Rome found him, the boy’s ears would bleed from the lecture he would receive.
As he waited for someone to come to the door, unanswered questions nagged at Rome like harping fishwives. Who was the swordsman who’d interrupted their party the night before and what was his connection to the fencing society? Where had Peter disappeared afterward? He wanted answers, and not just about Peter’s activities.
The fact that the alluring Rose had slipped away from him and disappeared without a trace did not improve his disposition.
The door o
pened, reminding him of the reason he was not still out searching. “Ah, Mr. Devereaux.” The butler stepped aside and motioned him to enter. “Your mother and Mrs. Emberly are waiting for you in the parlor.”
“Thank you, Hinton.” Rome stepped inside. In the few moments necessary to remove his hat and gloves and hand them to Hinton, he wrestled for control of his simmering emotions, forcing his annoyance and worry to the back of his mind. His mother was ever a fragile female, and his black temper would certainly ruin her evening.
When he had himself under control, he entered the parlor. His sister Lavinia sprang to her feet. “Rome!” she cried, throwing her arms wide to embrace her brother.
The last of his vexation melted away. “Have a care for my cravat, Vin.”
“So you value your elegant neckcloth more than your sister?” Lavinia fixed him with the same infectious grin she had worn as a child, her hazel eyes sparkling.
“Let us just say that you are both of equal value to me.” He squeezed his sister in an embrace that made her giggle.
“Roman, really.” From the settee, Eleanor Devereaux sent them an indulgent smile that underscored the gentle scolding in her voice. “Lavinia, do remember you are a grown woman.”
“As if I can forget, Mama.” Vin gave him another beaming smile. “Congratulations, brother. I am about to make you an uncle.”
“What’s this?” Roman said, releasing her. “You and Emberly have finally decided to do your duty to the family line?”
“Roman!” his mother exclaimed.
“I’m simply shocked,” Rome said as he made his way over to kiss his mother on the cheek. “You and I know Vin has never done anything she is supposed to.”
Lavinia made faces at him, and Eleanor swatted him away with a playful wave. “Roman, you say the most scandalous things! I am thrilled for them both.” She sent him a sidelong glance. “It’s about time one of you made me a grandmother.”
Debra Mullins Page 3
