Debra Mullins

by Scandal of the Black Rose

  “I came here to question you, Vaughn, not the other way around.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He’d always known Vaughn looked older than his years, and the diplomat proved it by yanking a sword from the wall and falling into a fighting stance in the blink of an eye.

  Expecting such a movement, Rome drew his pistol at the same time.

  Vaughn glanced down at the pistol pointed at him. “Not very sporting of you, Devereaux.”

  “This isn’t about sport.” Rome rose, keeping the weapon trained on the other man. “This is about death. And you will answer my questions.”

  “I see all that I heard about you is true,” Vaughn said, with a bark of laughter.

  “The Black Rose Society,” Rome began. “What—”

  Vaughn’s leg came up. Numbing pain shot up Rome’s arm as the kick connected with his wrist. The pistol flew out of his hand and hit the floor, skidding across the room.

  “Yes, let’s do talk about the Black Rose Society.” Vaughn pointed the sword at Rome’s throat. “I’ve been watching you, Devereaux. Waiting for this moment.”

  “And here it is. You must be pleased.”

  Vaughn’s eyes narrowed. “’Tis I who will ask the questions, my boy, and you will answer them.”

  “As you wish.” Quick as a blink, Rome swept a heavy book from the desk. The resounding thud broke Vaughn’s concentration for only a moment, but it was all Rome needed. He darted away from the sword and grabbed its mate from the wall.

  Vaughn’s expression of shock melted into one of pleased challenge. He saluted Rome with his blade. Rome did the same, and both men eased gracefully into fighting stance.

  The battle began with the first tentative scraping of metal on metal, each of them exploring the other’s skill. Swish, scrape. Swish, scrape.

  Vaughn thrust unexpectedly. Rome parried. They stood frozen there for a moment, eyes locked as fiercely as their weapons. Then Vaughn slowly smiled. Rome gave a nod, and the duel exploded.

  Vaughn attacked. Rome countered a wicked slash, and the vibration of sword meeting sword traveled up his arm. He tightened his grip and came back at his opponent, forcing the older man backwards with a thrust.

  Vaughn dodged the blade, then came back with rapid swordplay that demanded all of Rome’s concentration. They moved around the room in the intricate dance of combat, nearly equal in their skill, fiercely matched, blades glittering in the candlelight.

  “They taught you well,” Vaughn admitted, sweat beading his brow.

  “The battlefield taught me.” Rome drove Vaughn back a step.

  “I can claim the same.” Vaughn pressed onward again with a surge of strength.

  Rome parried the attack. “Death is more than you deserve.”

  “I welcome death, if it means I take you with me.” Vaughn pushed forward, his blade lightning fast.

  “Haven’t you sent enough men to meet their maker?” Rome panted.

  “More than you, I’d imagine.” Red-faced with exertion, the older man still fought with surprising vigor.

  “Bastard.” Grim-faced, Rome stepped up his pace.

  “I cede that title to you.” Vaughn twisted in an unexpected maneuver that wedged them together, face-to-face, blades locked at the hilt. “Only the most vile of villains could murder a boy like Peter Brantley.”

  “I agree.” Rome shoved against Vaughn, but the other man spun and locked their weapons together again. Rome leaned in, putting pressure on the other man’s grip. “And I will avenge his death with your own, old man.”

  Vaughn blinked. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “Peter Brantley. You murdered him.”

  “I didn’t.” Puzzlement etched his face. “You did.”

  “What game is this?” Furious, Rome shoved the other man away.

  “No game.” Vaughn held up his hand when Rome would have charged forward. “Hold a moment. I thought you killed Brantley.”

  “No, you did. Or someone else in your Black Rose Society.” Rome leaned into fighting stance again. “Now let’s finish this.”

  “My society? Hardly.” Vaughn lowered his sword. “I am not a member.”

  “You have the ring.”

  “I do. I removed it from a member of the society that we captured some time ago.”

  “Lies. Raise your sword, coward.”

  “I’ll forgive you that because I believe you to be grieving. Devereaux, I was under the impression that you were a member of the society.”

  “Me?” Completely startled, Rome carefully rose from his stance. “You’re the villain here.”

  “No, I’m investigating the villains.”

  “So am I.”

  The two men faced each other across the oriental carpet, wary.

  “Does this mean,” Vaughn finally asked, “that we are fighting on the same side?”

  “Unless you’re lying.”

  Vaughn shook his head and threw down his sword. “There is my weapon. I can show you the notes I have kept of my investigation to prove the truth to you.”

  “I might be lying, in which case you’re foolish for discarding your weapon.”

  Vaughn simply pinned him with a look. “Are you lying?”

  “No.”

  “Then we will simply have to trust each other.”

  “That could prove hazardous.”

  “My instincts tell me you are on the side of right, Devereaux.” Vaughn stepped backwards toward his desk, keeping his eyes on Rome. “I just can’t fathom how you became involved. Was it Brantley?”

  Rome nodded, grief and confusion clogging his throat. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “I will.” Vaughn moved behind his desk and removed a thick set of papers from a drawer. “I have friends in the Home Department, and one of them asked for my assistance in this matter due to my years of experience and fascination with swords.” His expression grew stony. “I have seen too much of death to allow these miscreants to murder our bright youth.”

  Rome said nothing, merely stepped forward and glanced at the papers. Names, dates. Going back over a year.

  Rome remained silent, the memory of Peter’s lifeless eyes still too fresh. He raised his gaze to Vaughn’s. “Tell me about the ring.”

  “We had an informant for a brief time, a boy who wanted to leave the society. One night he got word to us that a duel was about to occur, and I took a team of men to stop it. Everyone got away but one man.”

  “Whom you interrogated, I assume.”

  Vaughn nodded, then sighed. “He refused to talk. He wore that ring, so we believe he was a high-ranking member of the society.”

  “The Triad.”

  Vaughn raised his brows. “Yes.”

  Rome turned away, sword at his side now. “What happened to him?”

  “He managed to hang himself, the cur. Gone without ever telling us a word.” Vaughn shuffled the papers. “I suppose Brantley involved you.”

  Rome gave a stiff nod. “I made a deathbed promise to his brother on the battlefield.”

  “We thought you were a member. You attended a dinner party at Vauxhall Gardens not long ago.”

  Again Rome nodded. “You had men there?”

  “One. They discovered him quickly.” His mouth thinned. “And murdered him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Vaughn accepted the sympathy with a bob of his head. “You walked out of that party with no mask, so we were able to identify you.”

  “And thought I was one of them. I would have done the same.” Rome leaned the sword against the desk.

  “Your name and the rumor of the lost note were the only trail we had to follow.”

  “Lost note?”

  “It was the talk of the party. I’m surprised you didn’t hear of it. It went missing about a year ago.” Vaughn gave a hard little laugh. “The precious Triad was mad to find it. It was a trail, you see. Evidence that they existed. They would kill to get it back.”

  Even the breat
h in his lungs stilled. “Does it contain the symbol of the society?”

  “Yes, it matches the rings the members wear. Apparently, when someone received the symbol in the post, he was supposed to report to a predestined meeting place to be taken to the duel.”

  Anna.

  That day on Lavinia’s steps replayed in his mind like some horrible nightmare. Anna possessed the missing note, a scrap of paper the society would kill to recover. Her life was in danger, and she had no idea.

  Vaughn peered at him, brows beetled in concern. “Devereaux? Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” He studied Vaughn’s face, torn. He’d admired Edgar Vaughn all his adult life—until he’d suspected him of belonging to the Black Rose Society. Even with all of Vaughn’s research laid out before him, he remained unsure of the diplomat’s allegiance. Was he indeed an ally? Or was he a clever foe trying to mislead Rome with cunning words and believable details?

  Did he dare confide in Vaughn? Or would he be knotting the noose around Anna’s neck by doing so?

  Her life was too precious to be wagered on a guess.

  “What is it?” Vaughn asked, studying Rome’s face with narrowed eyes. “Come, Devereaux, we must work together if we are to put an end to the society.”

  Time was running out. “I know who has the note”

  Vaughn’s face lit with interest. “Tell me.”

  “I believe it’s at Haverford Park.” Rome crossed the room and picked up his fallen pistol, then tucked it safely away.

  “Wait! Where are you going? You can’t just walk off like this!” Vaughn came out from behind the desk. “Damn it, Devereaux, we’re not finished here!”

  “I am.” He headed for the door. “I will contact you if I need assistance, Vaughn.”

  “Blast it, Devereaux, come back here! I can help you!”

  But Rome kept going, closing the office door behind him.

  “I wish Mama had agreed to come,” Lavinia said, as she sat with her husband, Anna, and Henrietta in Haverford’s drawing room.

  Emberly patted his wife’s hand, the small diamond in his pinky ring glittering in the soft light. “Now, my sweet. You know your mother dislikes socializing.”

  “She doesn’t dislike it,” Lavinia protested. “She’s simply too humiliated to be seen anywhere but en famille. The instant she discovered the Fellhoppers were going to be here, she changed her mind about attending.”

  All of them glanced at the Fellhoppers, who sat with the admiral and Haverford at the card table, playing a spirited game of whist.

  “It could have been quite the intimate coze,” Mrs. Rosewood remarked, sipping a glass of sherry, “had it been kept to just family.”

  “Then you and I would not be here, Mama,” Anna reminded her.

  Henrietta gave her a patronizing smile. “Nonsense, daughter. You know it is just a matter of time before we are family in truth.”

  Anna rolled her eyes and glanced apologetically at the Emberlys. “I do not seek to presume, Mama.”

  A squeal of feminine laughter came from the card table. Henrietta sent a disdainful look at the players. “Some people do, apparently.”

  Anna was saved from covering her mother’s rudeness by the entrance of the butler, Leighton.

  “Mr. Roman Devereaux,” the butler announced. Moments later Rome appeared in the door, windblown and exhausted, and Anna’s heart skipped.

  “Rome!” Haverford called out. “What ever are you doing here?”

  Rome nodded acknowledgment to the other people at the table as he came to stand by the earl. “It is urgent I speak with you, cousin,” he murmured.

  “I see.” Haverford rose. “If you will all excuse me…” The two men left the room, and Anna’s chest grew tight. Breathing became a chore as she watched the door swing closed behind that tall, familiar form.

  “Don’t be too obvious,” her mother murmured. “We mustn’t let his lordship think you fast.”

  Anna just closed her eyes and focused on calming her quivering nerves, leaving her mother to her incorrect assumption.

  “I wonder what brings your brother here?” Emberly mused. “He looked as if he’s ridden his horse into a lather.”

  “I don’t know.” Lavinia frowned after the two men. “I do remember he had said he intended to stay in London.” She cast a puzzled glance at Anna.

  Anna shook her head ever so slightly. She had no idea why Rome was at Haverford Park, but the urgency and unexpectedness of his arrival certainly left her at sixes and sevens.

  Lavinia pursed her lips as she considered the matter, then gasped. “Oh! I do hope nothing has happened to Mama!”

  Emberly squeezed her hand. “If that were the case, he would have come to fetch you. No doubt ’tis some sort of man’s business. Do not worry.”

  “I agree with your husband,” Henrietta said. “Mr. Devereaux would surely tell you immediately if your mama needed you at her side.”

  Lavinia took a deep breath. “Very well. I will simply wait until he has finished speaking to Marc before I quiz him.”

  “Sound thinking.” Emberly agreed.

  But she glanced at Anna again, and the worry in her eyes sparked Anna’s own. What was Rome doing here? And worse yet, how in the world could she keep her distance from him when every beat of her heart demanded otherwise?

  Lavinia twisted her fingers together, and Emberly rested his hand over hers. “My dear, do not overset yourself. If you like, I will go and tell your brother to come speak to you the instant he has finished conferring with Haverford.”

  “Oh, would you, Henry? That would make me feel so much better.”

  “Of course, my dear.” Henry rose and smiled down at her. “I shall be back momentarily.”

  As Emberly left them, Anna’s mother said, “You are fortunate in your husband, Mrs. Emberly. He clearly cares for you a great deal.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Rosewood. I am indeed blessed, though Henry is gone quite a bit to his political meetings. I do wish he could spend more time at home.”

  “There are other wives who see their husbands but once a year,” Henrietta continued. “A woman must appreciate the moments her busy husband can spend with her. Isn’t that right, daughter?”

  Hearing the lesson behind the words, Anna answered by rote. “Yes, Mama.” Surreptitiously, she glanced toward the door. Lavinia coughed loudly, and Anna jerked her attention back to her companions to meet Lavinia’s warning gaze. At the silent reminder, Anna’s wild speculation about Rome lurched to a halt. She struggled to pick up the conversation. “I shall certainly remember that when I am wed.”

  “If more daughters listened to their elders, there would be more content wives,” Henrietta declared.

  “A woman should always be content and grateful for what she has,” Lavinia said. “Everyone is happier for it.”

  “Indeed, Mrs. Emberly, I believe you have hit upon the root of the problem.” Henrietta nodded and sipped her sherry. “If more of our young ladies learned to appreciate their lot in life and let go of foolish, romantic notions, we would all be the better for it.”

  “I agree,” Lavinia said, looking straight at Anna. “The heart leads without reason, and those who follow it often find themselves the victims of disaster.”

  Before Anna could formulate a reply, Emberly rejoined them.

  “I’m sorry, Lavinia,” he said, taking his seat beside her. “They have closeted themselves in the study. I expect we will have to wait until they return before you can speak to your brother.”

  “Thank you for trying, Henry.”

  Emberly smiled, and his affection for his wife shone in his normally sober dark eyes. “Anything to make you happy, my sweet.”

  Chapter 18

  Haverford closed the door to the study and locked it, then walked toward his cousin. “Rome, what are you doing here? Has something happened?”

  Rome paced the floor of the study, too restless to sit. “Peter is dead.”

  “What? Good God!” Haver
ford grabbed the back of a chair, his eyes wide with shock. “When? How?”

  “Early this morning. And by the sword, of course.” Rome gave a harsh laugh. “The bloody Black Rose Society.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I was supposed to protect him.” The slash of guilt still ripped at his insides. “I thought I had a good plan. No one should have been able to find him.”

  “They must have been following him.”

  “That’s my guess.” Grief tried to drown him, but he fought back the wave with effort. There would be time to mourn later, when his duty was done.

  “I take it there is some danger that brings you here.”

  Marc’s smooth, practical tone helped Rome to regain control of his roiling emotions. “Yes. Anna…Miss Rosewood is in danger.”

  Marc sat down. “Tell me.”

  “She has something they want, something that belonged to her brother. They would kill to get it.”

  “Really. Do they know she has it?”

  “I don’t know.” Plagued by agitation, Rome picked up Haverford’s letter opener off the desk. The elegant silver instrument resembled a miniature sword, hilt and all. He turned the piece over in his hand, watching the light play on the blade.

  “What is this mysterious something?” Marc asked, raising his brows as he plucked the letter opener from Rome’s fingers.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s a note to her brother from the society. Apparently, they are mad to get it back lest it lead the authorities to them.”

  Marc frowned. “I see.”

  “I just learned of this and came straightaway to warn her.”

  “Don’t you mean to warn me? After all, I am responsible for Miss Rosewood’s safety.”

  “To warn all of you.” His fear for Anna would betray his true feelings if he did not choose his words carefully. Frustrated, he took the letter opener from Marc and tossed it on the desk. “Cousin, I have ridden a long way to bring you this news. I only just found out myself. Let’s formulate a plan.”

  Marc drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “How did you discover this complication?”