The thought that his uncle might have been harmed occurred to him, but he quickly dismissed it. If Rushton could not prosecute Randall, Dorothea’s plan would surely fail.
Randall rocked his head from side to side, working the tightness in his neck free. He mumbled a silent prayer for his uncle’s safety while keeping an observant eye for Dorothea. Tonight he would see this thing complete and rid himself of that woman, if indeed she were involved. Randall swung around toward the approaching footsteps.
“Relax lad, it’s only me.”
Randall exhaled. “Uncle, I am greatly relieved to see you in good health.”
“Never been better.” Rushton thumped on his chest. “Might say the entire experience was invigorating. Caused my pulse to quicken and the old heart to pound, as they say.”
“Well? Tell me what happened.” Randall wanted to know. “Did Billy strike?”
“Exactly as we expected. I took the crested coach so there was no mistake of my identity,” Rushton began. “The knave fired his pistol to bring the coach to a halt. I stepped outside and the ruffian shoved me out of the way and peered into the transport. But of course, as we know, it was empty. He was fierce looking, all right. Dressed all in black, wearing a tricorn and a brace of pistols and carrying a third in his hand.
“ ‘I fear I must deny you the riches of the countess,’ I announced. ‘For you’ll not find her with me this night.’ ” Rushton paused and reflected. “It was most odd. He never spoke but gestured with the barrel of his pistol. I offered no resistance and handed over my signet ring, stickpin, fob, and pocket watch.”
Rushton lowered his voice to a serious tone. “The signet ring will prove most incriminating. I gave a superb performance, if I do say so myself. I was quite good. I went further to threaten him with, ‘If I ever discover who you are, I’ll see you swing for this. I’ll make certain I have the personal honor of dropping the trapdoor beneath your feet!’ ”
“Did you recognize him?”
“No, but had I not known otherwise, I could very well be convinced it was you.”
That wasn’t good news, especially coming from his own uncle.
A coach rounded the corner and stopped in front of the Brookhurst residence. The front door opened and a cloaked figure emerged.
“Uncle Cyrus, our prey is about to flee.” Randall moved toward the tethered horses.
“Enough of my tale. Let us see an end to this hoax.”
Dorothea boarded the waiting coach. Randall and his uncle followed at a discreet distance. The coach pulled up at the theater. They watched Dorothea enter and followed her inside. Randall easily caught sight of her moving toward the upper level. Grasping his uncle’s arm, he headed toward the stairs.
One by one, Randall and the earl peered behind the heavy drapes into the boxes to discern the identity of its occupants.
“Did all go well?” she asked.
Randall recognized the voice of Dorothea Brookhurst. He stationed himself just outside the box and motioned for his uncle to near.
“Couldn’t have gone any better,” the accomplice said.
Rushton stationed himself on the opposite side of the door.
“You should have heard the old man. He’ll have an apoplexy when he discovers it was Trent.”
Randall peered in during the silent interval and witnessed a small pouch pass between the seated figures.
“Take these and do your worst.”
“After my visit to Rushton Manor there will be no doubt of the highwayman’s identity. Randall Trent shall not walk away this time. And I can assure you Larissa will fall into your arms for comfort, if that is what you still want.”
“Yes, I still want her,” the man sounded adamant. “I’ve gone this far for her, haven’t I?”
Randall and his uncle exchanged questioning gazes. The accomplice not only knew Larissa, but knew her well enough to be in love with her.
At intermission the lights came up. The drapes pulled open, revealing Randall and the Earl of Rushton blocking the exit. Dorothea and Lord Fenton Harding faced them.
“I will be taking what belongs to me if you don’t mind Lady Dorothea.” Rushton held out his hand.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.” Dorothea sniffed at the indignity.
“Come now, Trent, let us by,” Fenton demanded.
“No. I don’t think I shall.” Randall snatched up Dorothea’s reticule and handed it to his uncle for inspection. Reaching for her dress, he rifled through the material.
“What do you think you are doing?” Dorothea protested with a muffled shriek.
“Trying to discern whether you dabble in black magic or if you simply have a black heart.” He stilled, finding exactly what he expected. “What have we here?” Within the folds of her dress he removed a pouch from a hidden pocket. Opening the bag he reached in and plucked out a gold signet ring. “I believe this is yours, Uncle.”
Rushton stared at the item. “So it is,” he commented. “How is it you come to have possession of this, Lady Dorothea? It was stolen by Bussin’ Billy this very night.”
Dorothea’s gaze flew to Fenton.
An easy smile slid onto Rushton’s face. “You need not face the gallows or jail, either of you.” The earl shifted to gaze upon Dorothea.
“What do you mean?” Fenton sounded scared. He should have been scared. Rushton was not making an idle threat.
“A most convincing performance, Harding,” Rushton’s voice was more accusing than complimentary. “I commend you on your ability to impersonate my nephew. I might point out his mane is naturally dark, not created to appear so.”
The earl fingered the ends of Fenton’s hair, then held them out to reveal a dark residue.
“This was all your idea!” Fenton shouted in his defense, jabbing an accusing finger at Dorothea.
“Do not say another word,” Dorothea warned through clenched teeth with alarming calm.
“I do not need a confession.” Rushton’s demeanor took on the noble stature of a peer of the realm. “I can stand testament to your guilt.”
Rushton stared into Fenton’s eyes, verifying recognition.
“I’m not going to the gallows to save you,” Fenton exclaimed.
“Shut up, you fool!” she shouted.
“I am a fair man,” Rushton stated. “I give you a choice. You have until tomorrow afternoon to leave the country or I shall report you to the authorities myself.”
Dorothea’s mouth opened in outrage. Randall expected to hear a protest. None came.
“We have cause to celebrate,” Rushton proclaimed upon his arrival the following night at Rushton Manor. “Break out the champagne, Watkins!”
“You are back!” Ivy remarked. He pulled Ivy near and planted a kiss on each cheek. “We are just about to sit down to supper.”
Randall met with a hardy welcome from William and a reserved greeting from Larissa. “My dear.” He bent over her hand and gave it a slight squeeze, then announced, “We have been successful. My name has been cleared and the culprits have fled!”
The pop of a champagne cork echoed from the hallway.
The earl told of the robbery. In hindsight, Randall realized danger was minimal, yet Uncle Cyrus exaggerated the tale into one that held the utmost drama. Rushton had Ivy, Larissa, and William sitting literally on the edge of their chairs.
Watkins finally arrived with the champagne and circulated through the room, distributing the glasses.
“To all of us!” Rushton raised his glass in a toast. The others chorused the cheer.
“Look.” Randall directed Larissa’s attention to his glass. “I’d have thought the champagne flat by now, but it has bubbles.” It was a jab at how long it had taken the ancient butler to pull the cork and deliver the champagne to the guests.
Larissa gasped at Randall’s ill manners. He was not usually rude, but he felt little patience since every moment spent with her had been interrupted.
Rushton had settled n
ext to Ivy on the sofa. After a second glass of champagne, he urged his nephew to finish the tale. Randall recounted the events of the confrontation of Dorothea and Fenton at the theater.
All through supper they discussed and theorized about the two villains. After the meal, Ivy and Larissa left the men to their port. The men did not remain and followed Rushton to the drawing room instead.
“I really should be on my way,” William offered, finishing the remainder of his after dinner drink.
“Must you? So soon?” Randall sounded rather anxious and encouraging. Larissa applied her sharp elbow to Randall’s ribs, silencing him.
“I’m afraid I must. I have outlived my usefulness and far overstayed my welcome,” he explained.
“William, you mustn’t think so,” Larissa voiced in sympathy.
“Please,” he held up his hand. “Just promise me you’ll keep this young pup from finding any more trouble.”
“I shall do my best.” The blush that rose in her cheeks was so very attractive, Randall thought.
Noting he would be rising early to leave for Carswell Castle, William finished his farewells and retired for the night. Randall was grateful beyond measure to his friend and even more indentured to him because he was the first to bed.
Ivy was the next to claim fatigue. No doubt Rushton would follow his wife, leaving Randall and Larissa alone.
“All this is so very exciting,” the countess said. “Much too exciting for me.” She kissed her niece on the cheek. “I share your happiness on the return of your husband.” Addressing Randall she said, “I congratulate you on your newfound freedom.” She pressed her cheek to his. At the doorway, the countess spoke to Rushton. “I shall see you presently, I hope.” She widened her eyes, giving him a silent order to follow.
“Yes, dear,” he agreed. “As you say, presently.”
Did this mean Uncle Cyrus was not going with her?
“Come with me, my boy. I want to discuss an increase in your quarterly allowance. Now that you’re a married man, no doubt you will want to buy a house and settle down.”
“I don’t really think now is the best time,” Randall said, hampering his uncle as tactfully as he could. It had been an age since he had seen Larissa, and he hadn’t the chance for a proper greeting since his arrival. He glanced in her direction and longed to be near her.
“Now’s precisely the time,” Rushton countered. He wanted to speak to his nephew and Randall knew there was nothing he could say to change his uncle’s mind.
His reunion with Larissa would have to wait just a bit longer.
Sitting on the small sofa near the fire in her bedchamber, Larissa leafed through a book when a light rap came from the connecting door. It swung open, revealing a dressing gown-clad Sir Randall.
He strode into the room, a matching sash tied at the waist kept the garment bound, but the open neck exposed part of his smooth chest with just a dusting of dark hair.
“I trust we shan’t be disturbed here,” he said, sounding as serious as ever.
Larissa closed her book and laid it on her lap, giving him her complete attention.
“It seems every time I get up the nerve to speak my mind, there’s a blasted interruption.”
“The only one who would dare to invade this sanctum is you,” Larissa countered his agitation with calm.
“That’s consoling news.” He passed in front of her to pace.
“What is it you wish to see me about?”
He swung around to face her. “Do you realize we haven’t had a single moment alone since my return?”
“Why do I have the distinct impression you want something from me?”
“Want?” He gave a nervous chuckle, crossing his arms. “I just want everything to remain the way it is.”
“What exactly do you mean by ‘everything?’ ”
He did not answer her directly, but digressed into an explanation. “We have been kept quite busy,” his voice softened, releasing his discontent and anger, “with exposing Lady Dorothea’s collaboration with Lord Fenton in the Bussin’ Billy scheme and all. There hasn’t been time to attend to much of anything else.”
“By ‘anything else’ you are referring to,” she prompted him.
Sir Randall sat next to her and enveloped her hands with his. His dark, soulful eyes gazed at her, making her feel weak and silly. “I don’t want our marriage to end.”
“But we’re not really married.” He had been acting this rumor for so long, perhaps he was beginning to believe it himself.
“As far as everyone else is concerned, we’ve been married since before the Season. Even your aunt and my uncle believe it. We shall never be able to marry openly.”
“And you are suggesting what?” Larissa did not need to pretend she did not understand what he was saying, because she didn’t.
Sir Randall drew her closer, sliding the sleeve of her wrapper upward to continue his feather-light kisses from her hand up her arm.
“I propose a trip on the Great North Road. Gretna Green, to be specific. To set to right these past few months.”
“You want to marry me?” It hadn’t come as a surprise, exactly. However, his intentions had caught her off guard.
“You know I am not rich, but I have just been informed that my Aunt Constance, the earl’s first wife, my mother’s sister, has left an inheritance due to me upon my marriage and my Uncle Cyrus has increased my quarterly allowance threefold. We shall have enough to purchase a house in the country and make modest investments toward our future.”
“Do you think I care about money? I would not accept your offer because of money.”
“I know,” he whispered. “You accept me because of this.” Sir Randall pulled her against him and kissed her. When he finally pulled away it left her breathless. He held her close, she could feel his chest rise and fall, fighting for air. “You’ve told me you wanted me, and I’m telling you I want you. Is that so hard to understand? I can’t promise you excitement or adventure.”
“Yes, I do love you,” she confessed, having an equal problem catching her breath. “I think I have had enough adventures to last a lifetime.”
“What I can promise is my love,” Sir Randall stated sincerely. “As you wish, no more adventures.”
“Nothing would please me more.” Larissa met his lips with hers for a slow, wonderful kiss. After all this time of being his rumored wife it would come true, Larissa would become Lady Randall Trent.
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