The two at the next table did not look to be men of means by any stretch of the imagination, and their familiarity with the barmaid made it clear they were regular patrons of the establishment. It had probably been pure coincidence that they’d found the body.
Still, he got to his feet and lurched across the room as the very drunk were wont to do. He bumped the chair of one of the fellows, deliberately sloshing ale all over his chest.
“Bugger!” The bearded man leaped to his feet, his chair screeching backwards and tipping over. “Watch yourself!”
“Sorry.” Pasting a simpleton’s grin on his face, Rome took out his handkerchief and swiped at the ale staining the fellow’s shirt. “Didn’t see you there.”
The bearded man’s tall, thin friend stood up. “You spilled his ale,” he accused. “Haven’t you heard what we do to nobs around here?”
“Now, now.” Rome turned to the tavern maid. “Fetch us ales, my pretty, all three of us.”
The girl nodded and cast him a look of feminine appreciation before hurrying off to do as bid. Rome grabbed a chair from the table behind him and pulled it around.
“Give me a reason not to pound you into pulp,” the wet man growled, ale dripping from his beard.
“Because I’ve just bought you a round. Sit, both of you.” Dropping into the chair, Rome took a swig from his own tankard. “Please accept my abject apologies, gentlemen, in the form of the Cock and Crown’s best.”
The two fellows looked at each other in indecision. Finally, the tall one shrugged, and they both sat down again. The barmaid hurried over with three brimming tankards.
Rome pushed his empty one aside and lifted a new one in toast. “To this beautiful lady,” he said, then drank. The barmaid giggled and hurried away as the two other men awkwardly followed suit.
“Meggie’s a fair one, to be sure,” the skinny one said.
“Best broadside I’ve ever seen.” The bearded fellow gazed after Meggie, then gave a lusty sigh and took a deep drink of ale. “I see you’ve a fine eye for the ladies, but what brings you to the Crown? It’s clear as day you’re not a regular.”
“Is it?” Rome scowled. “I had thought to blend.”
The skinny one gave a bark of laughter. “Not in that fancy coat.”
“A friend of mine was killed the other night. I had hoped to find out what happened.”
“The nob.” The bearded one nodded, then gestured to his associate. “Reese and I found him, you know.”
“You did?” Rome goggled. “Where? What happened? Did you see who did it?”
“Easy there.” Reese sat back a bit, as if afraid such open emotion would contaminate him. “Let Birch tell you the way of it.”
“We didn’t see a bloody thing.” Birch slurped at his ale, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Reese and I come here every night. We have a pint or two, then head home.”
“That night we stopped in the alley because Birch here had to…how do you nobs say it? Relieve himself, that’s it.”
“And I tripped over the dead bloke,” Birch said. “Near pissed on him.”
“He was just lying there?” Rome asked.
“Aye, just lying there,” Birch confirmed with a nod. “Bleeding all over the street. Reese here checked his pockets—”
“To identify him,” Reese quickly interjected.
“And then the watch came. We had witnesses who saw us here in the Crown all night, else they might have thought it was us who done him.”
“But we didn’t,” Reese said. “We just found him.”
Birch nodded sagely. “Poor blighter.”
Rome took a quick swig of his ale, then slapped the tankard down on the table. “Show me,” he said, his voice rough like a man trying to control his emotions. “Show me where you found my dear friend Dalton.”
Birch awkwardly patted his arm. “Soon as we finish our ale, friend.”
“Birch and Reese found him,” the red-haired doxy was saying. It had taken another coin before Anna discovered her name was Maude. “Those two are at the Cock and Crown every night.”
“I take it you know these men.”
“O’ course I do.” Maude tossed her red curls and gave her a feline grin. “Gave ’em both a ride a time or two when they had the coin.”
Grateful for the veil that hid her blushing cheeks from the other woman, Anna asked, “Do you think they had anything to do with killing him?”
“Birch and Reese?” The harlot gave a cackle. “They’re harmless, those two. Apt to pinch a purse now and again if they get the chance, but that’s just so they can buy more ale.”
“And you didn’t see anyone else around before the body was discovered?”
“I was busy, dearie.” She winked. “I’ve got customers to see to.”
“Of course.” Anna cleared her throat. “Thank you for your time, Maude. I appreciate it.” She held out a couple more silver coins.
“Easiest work I’ve ever done.” The doxy snatched them from Anna’s hand and tucked them away inside her bosom.
“I’m glad you feel that way. Perhaps—”
“Oh, I wasn’t talking to you.” Maude gave her a grin that suddenly seemed more calculating than friendly. “Was I, lover?”
“No, you weren’t.” A masculine hand clamped down on Anna’s shoulder and spun her around. “What have we here?”
Anna got an impression of a big, brawny, dark-haired man with a pockmarked face silhouetted against the streetlamp. She tried to jerk from the man’s hold, but his grip was like iron. “Let me go!”
“I’m betting we’ve got ourselves a virgin,” Maude said, coming around to stand beside the man. “All them hoity-toity society ladies are virgins.”
“That would be a nice stroke of luck.” Holding Anna firmly by the arm, Maude’s lover ran a huge hand over Anna’s breasts and down along her waist to trace her hip. “Decent teats. If her face ain’t half-bad, we could fetch a pretty price for her.”
“Unhand me!” Anna struggled to free herself, but she was pinned like a butterfly caught beneath a cat’s paw.
Maude laughed. “Unhand her, do you hear that?”
“You’d best get used to a man’s hands on you, wench,” the man said with a chuckle. “Starting with mine.”
“No!” Anna kicked hard at the man’s shin, startling a bellow out of him, but it didn’t make him release her.
Maude’s expression hardened. “You shouldn’t ought to have done that, you fool. Now you’ve made Graham cross.”
Graham gave her a hard shake, nearly breaking her arm with his grip. “Maybe a beating will teach you to behave.”
Anna looked around frantically, but no one on the streets made a move to help her. Most of them looked away, as if they didn’t see what was going on. The door to the Cock and Crown opened, and three men strolled out. By some miracle, they headed toward the alley.
“Help!” she cried. “Please, help me!”
Graham cursed and yanked the veil away. “You’d better be worth my trouble, wench.”
Maude gripped Anna’s chin and tilted her face toward the light. “She’s a pretty one.”
“And look at that mouth. Blokes will line up to have a piece of that.”
Anna looked her tormenters in the face, opened her mouth, and screamed.
“What the—”
“Shut your mouth, you—” Graham shook her again.
“What’s going on over there?” The three men from the Crown broke into a run.
“Miss Rose!” Lizzie shoved open the door to the hack. “Hurry! Run!”
“You there!” The hack driver yanked a pistol from beneath the driver’s seat and fired it into the air.
At the report of the pistol, Graham dropped his grip. “She’s not worth dyin’ for. Come on!” He and Maude raced away down the street.
Anna gathered her skirts and bolted past the three men charging to her rescue and toward the open door of the coach, where Lizzie beckoned.
She s
crambled inside and flopped back against the seat, panting, her heart pounding. Lizzie slammed shut the door to the hack, and the coach lurched into motion.
Through the window she saw Roman Devereaux standing near the alley, staring after her with openmouthed astonishment.
The search of the alley had revealed nothing in the way of Dalton’s death, but the presence of the lady named Rose had shaken him.
Dear God, could it really be Anna Rosewood?
Back in his rooms, Rome stripped off his coat and hung it in the wardrobe, then began to untie his cravat as he walked across the room to the brandy decanter. He paused beside the liquor and struggled with the knot in his neckcloth. It would be a hell of a lot easier to dress fashionably with a valet, but as a former soldier, he lived simply and saw to his own needs. Most of his blunt went to support his mother’s comfortable home, and it pleased him to be able to provide for her.
He won the battle with the knot, and with the wrinkled cravat dangling from his neck, he poured himself a glass of brandy and pondered the situation.
The young girl in the hack tonight had looked like the maid Anna had forgotten at Lavinia’s home. He had only caught a glimpse of the girl when Vin had arranged for her to be sent back to the Rosewood residence, and the light on the street had been dim. Yet the girl in the hack had called his mysterious lady “Miss Rose,” and Miss Rose herself bore a striking resemblance to Anna Rosewood.
If it were any other woman, he would not be doubting his own eyes. But why would Anna Rosewood be in that part of town, in the company of a harlot and her partner?
He tossed back a swallow of the brandy and savored the taste on his tongue. The evidence didn’t lie. He’d seen the lovely Rose up close, had kissed her and touched her.
Lord, had he touched her.
And if Rose and Anna were the same woman…
That meant he had played fast and loose with his cousin’s future bride.
He groaned and sat down as the truth crashed over him. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, had willed it to be untrue. How could it be that the one woman who had gotten him that sexually excited happened to be Haverford’s future bride?
He’d known that night that she wasn’t a common doxy. He’d sensed something unusual about her, recognized the hints of her breeding and dismissed them, never for one instant imagining that a lady would find herself in such a situation.
She hadn’t corrected his assumption. She’d not rejected his advances, hadn’t slapped his face soundly or screamed for help. No, instead she’d called herself by a different name. She’d responded to his kisses. She’d climaxed in his arms.
Bloody, bloody hell! What game did she play?
He squeezed his eyes shut in horror as his father’s path stretched before him. Had she known who he was? Had she realized the irony of the situation?
Or perhaps that had been a thrill of her twisted game?
He reined in his wild imagination and forced himself to think logically.
The reason he had been at the Cock and Crown had been to investigate Dalton’s death. What if Anna had been there for the same reason? After all, they had first met at Vauxhall at a dinner party hosted by members of the Black Rose Society. Then he had seen her tonight near the Crown. Either Anna Rosewood was involved with the Black Rose Society in some capacity, or else she knew of their activities and was sticking her pretty nose where it didn’t belong.
But why?
Whatever her reasons, she had dragged him into a situation he had secretly dreaded all his life, yet never expected to occur.
When his father, curse him, had run off with the old earl’s fiancée twelve years ago, the incident had shamed his mother, had destroyed Vin’s faith in men. As for him, he’d been forced to prove he was not his father’s son. His cousin Marc had had every reason to cut off their branch of the family completely.
But Marc was a good man. An optimist, who believed in second chances. It had been his endorsement of Rome’s family that had given Vin the social cachet needed to snare Emberly as a husband. His mother still dared not show her face in Society, but Marc still invited Eleanor to events. He’d paid for Rome’s commission, giving him a chance to prove himself a man of honor in his own right. He owed Marc much.
Haverford had earned his respect and loyalty by supporting the family when no one else would. He must never find out what had happened at Vauxhall.
The consequences of exposure staggered him. Marc trusted no one since Rome’s father had run off with his future stepmother. Another scandal would tear asunder the few shreds of dignity the family had left, and it would ruin Anna’s family as well. Marc himself might retire completely from society and from the company of his own family, might even decide not to wed at all.
Which, ironically, would leave Rome as his heir.
And oh, what fun the gossips would have with that tidbit! No doubt they would accuse him of deliberately seducing Marc’s fiancée in order to keep his status as heir. Marc might even believe it himself.
That thought pierced deeply, as nothing else had. Would Marc truly believe that Rome could act so dishonorably?
Dear God.
He swiped a hand over his face, blowing out a harsh breath. He couldn’t let that happen, not any of it. Such disgrace would cost him the career in diplomacy that he so desired, but it was the emotional repercussions that ripped him apart.
History could not be allowed to repeat itself.
Rome tossed back the last dregs of brandy and set the glass aside. In order to avert disaster, he would have to get Anna alone and talk to her. He would make her confess her duplicity, then he would swear her to secrecy, with blackmail if necessary.
And after he got to the bottom of the Black Rose Society and made sure Peter was safe from harm, he would obtain a diplomatic position, no matter what the cost, and he would have himself assigned to a country far away from London.
And far away from the temptation of Anna.
Because the worst part of it was, even though he knew that she belonged to another, he still wanted her for himself. And the shame of that truth dishonored him far greater than anything Society had ever dealt him.
Chapter 7
Haverford’s theater box had an excellent view of the theater and, in turn, the occupants of the theater had an excellent view of Anna, seated beside the earl. She watched as various members of the ton put their heads together, whispering, while they cast their speculative glances toward the Haverford box. Their pointed interest did little to ease Anna’s nerves. Last night’s near disaster haunted her still, and she found herself more than once stroking the familiar cameo of her newly repaired locket between her fingers in an old gesture of anxiety.
Would Roman Devereaux betray her?
She squirmed in her seat, only to earn a sharp look of rebuke from her mother. Forcing herself to stillness, she focused on breathing. The rising feeling of suffocation was more mental than physical, because of her sensitivity to the close confines of her surroundings. Though large enough to accommodate all the members of their party, the box seemed unusually crowded to Anna, no doubt due to the brooding presence of Roman Devereaux.
Rome had been watching her all evening. He wasn’t obvious about it; that would have drawn inquiry. But since Anna had been watching him as well, she had noticed his intense study.
She had seen the look on his face outside the tavern. He’d clearly recognized her, but had he identified Anna Rosewood or Rose from Vauxhall Gardens? Either way, he suspected something.
But what would he do about it?
“Is something wrong with your locket?” Haverford’s quiet inquiry jolted her back to the present.
“Not at all.” She realized she was toying with the cameo again and dropped her hand to her lap, attempting a reassuring smile.
“Are comedies not to your liking?” He searched her expression, his gray eyes steady and earnest.
“On the contrary, I quite enjoy them.” She glanced down at the play bein
g enacted below. “Some of them are very clever.”
“I picked this performance specifically because I thought you would enjoy it.”
This time her smile was genuine. “And you were correct, my lord.”
He winced. “Please, call me Haverford. Or even Marc.”
Flustered, she glanced down at her hands as heat swept through her cheeks. “I could never be so bold as to use your Christian name.”
“Haverford then.” In a move so quick as to be invisible to anyone outside their box, he covered her hand with his own and squeezed it. Then he made a show of holding up his program with both hands for the benefit of the observing gossips below.
Staggered by so daring a gesture by a man considered impeccably proper, Anna turned her head slightly to glance at her mother, who sat behind and slightly to her right—the perfect angle to witness the earl’s clandestine caress. Mrs. Rosewood kept her gaze fixed on the actors below, but a small, satisfied smile curved her lips. The admiral dozed in his chair beside her, and next to her parents, on the far right, Lavinia grinned at her, clearly having observed the brief gesture of affection across the seat that remained empty on Haverford’s other side.
From beside Lavinia, with a clear view of everything, Rome glared at her, his program crumpled in his fist.
His displeasure hit her like a blow, and she swiftly turned her attention back to the play.
Bother Roman Devereaux and his foul humor! Haverford’s actions illustrated his regard. No doubt he would offer soon, and they would be officially betrothed. For an instant she indulged herself and imagined the announcement in the Times, the banns being read at the church, the engagement ring she would be able to show to all her friends. What would her wedding dress look like? Where would they go on their honeymoon?
She thought of their wedding day, of walking down the aisle on her father’s arm to meet her groom before the altar, of his green eyes glittering with passion as he bent to give her the kiss of peace…
Haverford’s eyes were gray.
Debra Mullins Page 9
