Rogue's Lady

by Robyn Carr

  Vieve was speechless, and a long moment of silence passed. The earl cleared his throat. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir and madam. If you will excuse me, I should like to entice the captain’s lovely young bride to dance.”

  “Certainly. I... ah, enjoyed meeting you as well, my lord,” Charles said uncomfortably. As Vieve was whisked onto the dance floor by the earl, she glanced over her shoulder to look at her aunt again. Elizabeth stood with hands demurely clasped before her, a smile on her lips, and her small eyes twinkling in what appeared to be hot emotion. Vieve actually shook her head in dismay. Something about Elizabeth had changed.

  The earl’s step was not nearly as elegant as Tyson’s, but his conversation was intriguing.

  “I had never met your uncle before tonight, madam,” Lord Moresay said. “But I have been acquainted with your father. When my cousin’s son introduced himself, he was very quiet about his connection to your family.” The earl chuckled. “Testing the water, no doubt.”

  “How long have you known my father?”

  “Oh, some twenty-five years, I suppose. Good man, Lord Ridgley.”

  “And have you been involved with the matters of law and property and titles for a very long time?”

  The earl laughed lightly. “I have only been involved in these legal events since...oh, I suppose three or four days now. I suppose the news would quite surprise His Majesty.”

  Vieve laughed aloud as she looked into Lord Moresay’s twinkling eyes. How wonderfully devious Tyson had been. “My uncle must be quite undone by the news.” And then more softly she added, “Thank you.”

  The earl gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Enjoy yourself, my dear. Our work is done for tonight.”

  Once the earl of Lemington had concluded his dance, he passed Vieve to the next ancient partner, and a long train of partners followed. She had danced with ten men when Andrew approached her. She looked frantically for Tyson, but could not find him among the guests. Rather than create a scene, she accepted warily.

  “Do be careful with your manners, Andrew,” she warned him. “My husband has good reason to hate you.”

  “I frankly don’t know why he should. He won you, after all. Do you still hate me?”

  “I do not trust you, and I would not be so foolish as to accept your friendship again.”

  He laughed bitterly. His eyes were glassy from drink, his steps as they danced less than graceful. “I am the one person you should wish to befriend.”

  “What do you mean, Andrew?”

  “Beware, pretty Vieve, there is much about your husband you do not know. He will leave you...and when he does, I will be here for you.”

  “Oh, Andrew, you must forget about me. I belong to another man now, and that will never change.”

  “You actually care for the pompous bastard, don’t you?”

  “Andrew, I love him. I know you’ve been hurt, but...”

  “I had heard that he was forced to wed you. That your father trapped him to get his money.”

  “You heard...” She stopped suddenly. This conspiracy was new to her, but she had been informed. Tyson had worked hard to convince Lenore that he was unhappily bound to England and wished for a way out. Lenore was here by route of Charles Latimer. And now the chain linked around Andrew, for Lenore was the only one to be told such a tale. So, he was a part of Charles’s whole scheme.

  Although she struggled with fierce anger, she lifted her chin and tried to sound convincing. “Tyson might resist me, but I hope to change his opinion.”

  “And who better than you,” he sneered contemptuously. “I will be waiting, my pretty, and perhaps I will take mercy on you when he’s gone.”

  “You should not hold your hopes on that, Andrew. For your own sake I tell you that no matter what becomes of me, I will never accept marriage with you. Never.”

  His finger touched her chin, and he smiled confidently. “If I want you to, you will.”

  Vieve stopped in the middle of a dance step and looked in awe at Andrew. His eyes shone with bitterness, his mouth twisted in a hateful grimace. “Save yourself if you can, Andrew. I fear you work too hard to destroy yourself.”

  She pulled away from him and walked briskly toward where she had last seen her husband. As she approached the crowd that had gathered on the fringes of the dance floor, she was stopped suddenly when she spied him in conversation with a beautiful, statuesque woman. Vieve’s coat was draped over his arm, as if he was ready to leave. She approached them slowly, a nervous flutter beginning anew in her stomach.

  The woman was some years older than Vieve and wore a stylish gown that glistened with twinkling jets, her auburn hair done in a modern, upswept coiffure. Vieve felt small and young in comparison, and, reasoning that this must be the ill-famed Lenore Fenton, she was frightened as well.

  It was Lenore who noticed her. Tyson turned. “My dear, I’ve been surprised by an acquaintance of mine from America. Miss Lenore Fenton, I should like you to meet my wife, Madam Vivian Gervais.”

  The woman looked down her long slim nose at Vieve. “A pleasure, madam,” she said smoothly, looking directly back at Tyson. “Although you said she was young, I was not quite prepared for her. Now I understand the problem.”

  Vieve tried to stand her ground proudly, but it was difficult. The woman was brazen. She was afraid for Tyson.

  “If you will excuse us, madam,” Tyson said with a smile. He kissed Lenore’s hand, and the woman made the requisite curtsies, after which Tyson pulled Vieve away from her.

  “She has chosen this very evening to test my clever lie, Vieve,” Tyson explained as he led her through the gallery. He paused only long enough to send a page for his coach. Then he turned Vieve to look at him. “She says she has secured an offer for my warehouse shares and that if I won’t speak with her tonight, she will be forced to believe I am disinterested. I suggested a daytime conference, but she is clever. She means to assure herself that I am not interested in our marriage. I am going to send you home and go with her.”

  “Tyson, she frightens me. Can’t you make some excuse?”

  “I have worked hard to build this lie with her. She believes that I seek escape from my marriage and England.”

  “You must beware. Even Andrew is a part of this.”

  He frowned slightly. “I know that.”

  “You know? But...”

  “I have suspected for a long time that Charles Latimer was trying to arrange your marriage with Shelby. Paul’s marriage, though not by your uncle’s doing, caused further debt to your father’s estate. Had you likewise married poorly, Charles would have finally had the upper hand.”

  “And he would have approached my father?”

  “Yes. Charles wants to be named as your father’s heir, setting him up to become the baron of Chappington upon your father’s death. Charles would have offered to save the family estate from certain ruin. He has been working for this for many years.”

  “Does he control them all? Lenore, Andrew, Elizabeth?”

  “Lenore is rather difficult to control, and I’m counting on that. I think it is obvious that your aunt knows what her husband is doing. As for Andrew, how else could Faye have become so infatuated, unless Andrew has been much around their household? Andrew’s desperation for you was surely encouraged by your uncle’s money.”

  She gave a short and bitter laugh. “And all this time I thought he was half crazed with wild love for me. What a fool I’ve been.”

  Tyson smiled into her eyes. “I don’t doubt that he wants you for yourself, Vieve. Perhaps, without your uncle’s interference, he would have used some sense in courting you.”

  Bevis drove up to them, and Tyson gave her a quick kiss before handing her in. “Please be careful, Tyson. I’m afraid she has set a trap for you.”

  “Then she will find her plans changed, for I will not allow her to trick me again.”

  “I will wait for you.”

  “Please understand, she will detain me f
or as long as possible. Can you trust me?”

  She brushed his cheek with her hand. “Of course I trust you,” she whispered. “But hurry home.”

  The fire had burned to glowing embers when Vieve was roused by a sound. She had dozed in the chair before the fire, waiting for Tyson. She listened alertly. A door opened down the hall, and she sighed with disappointment. She attributed the sound to Doré’s return.

  She heard another door open, and she listened again. Why was he opening doors? Could it be Harriet? She moved to light a candle beside the bed and then crept closer to the closed bedroom door. She could hear someone in the hall outside her door. And then the latch moved.

  Vieve withdrew from the door and stood with her back flush against the wall. The door slowly creaked open. She held her breath in sudden terror. Where was Doré? Bevis? Harriet? Tyson? Was she completely alone? She thought briefly to scream, but with this invader so close, she simply stood tensed, in wait. There was an audible sigh from the intruder. The door slowly closed.

  Vieve listened acutely. She could hear the culprit go down the steps. Who?

  Vieve tiptoed to the hearth and picked up the poker. She was not about to meet any aggressor defenseless. She stood close to her bedroom door, listening for any sound, for several minutes. She had left a light in the front sitting room for Tyson. Perhaps it was a thief, gone downstairs to look for valuables.

  She heard the front door open and close loudly. No thief in the night would make such noise. She quietly opened her bedroom door and peered down the stairs. There was no light at the bottom. Someone had extinguished her candle. “Tyson?” she called.

  “Vieve?” he returned.

  “Tyson, there is someone in the house. The sitting room.”

  Silence surrounded her. “Lock your door,” he instructed.

  She followed his orders immediately, slamming and locking the door, but the poker did not leave her hand. Only seconds passed before she heard the crashing of glass, the loud banging of a door, and the blast of a gun. She heard Tyson’s angry shout and a shuffling below. With a wild cry, she snatched open her door, but stopped abruptly at the top, for the way was dark. She ran to her bedside to retrieve the candle.

  She found Tyson leaning against the sitting room door, clutching his arm. Over his hand ran a stream of bright red blood. He had a dazed look in his eyes, shaking his head.

  “Tyson.” She dropped the poker, put down the candle and ran to him, but he pushed her aside quickly to go down the foyer toward the cookery and coach house in pursuit. She followed him through the doors left open by the fleeing assailant. Gone.

  Tyson ended his search in the coach house, where he found Bevis lying just inside the door that connected the attached room to the house. Tyson bent his cheek next to his servant’s nose. He felt the pulse at his neck.

  Vieve trembled violently and had no idea what to do, so she frantically searched for a flint to light candles.

  “Vieve, cool water. Quickly.”

  She dropped the flint, ran to the cookery, and grabbed a whole pail of drinking water. A sound behind her caused her to turn, spying Harriet sleepily making her way through the foyer to the back of the house. “Mum?” she questioned in confusion.

  Vieve did not stop to explain but struggled on with her bucket. Tyson quickly splashed water in Bevis’s face, but the poor man was slow to rouse. He moaned in pain as Tyson lifted his head and held the ladle to his mouth. A few sputters followed, but Bevis came around.

  “Lord Almighty,” Harriet exclaimed from behind them. “What’s happening in this house?”

  Bevis, sitting up on the floor by this time, held the back of his head with one hand and with the other sought a large, thick board. “Blimey,” he said, lifting the board. “Got me from be’ind, ‘e did.” He looked at Tyson. “I ‘eard a bit o’ movin’ about, an’ before I could do aught, wopped me on the ‘ead, ‘e did. Sorry, Cap’n.”

  “You did your best, Bevis.”

  He shook his head. “That’s twice now, Cap. The fire in the cargo ‘old on me Lady Lilly...an’ this. I won’t be lettin’ ye down again. Cap’n.”

  “Come on, Bevis, no grudges held. You couldn’t help it either time.”

  Tyson began to help Bevis to his feet when Vieve intervened. “Tyson, don’t... your arm. Let me.” She went to the servant’s side to pull him up, turning her gaze toward her husband. “Who was it?”

  “I couldn’t tell. It was dark, and the pistol shot blinded me.”

  “Andrew? Charles?”

  “Probably a hired man, for I did hear the departure...and Charles is not so light of foot. If it was Andrew, our problems are just beginning, for I put Doré to the task of following him.”

  “Is that where he is? Good heavens... is he in danger?”

  “I hope not,” Tyson returned, grasping his arm.

  “Come along,” she said sternly. “We can’t do anything about him now, and we have some wounds to tend.” She took Bevis’s arm, and as she helped him into the house, she snapped orders at Harriet. “Get me rags, salve, water, brandy... a scissors, needle and thread...Hurry up, Harriet.”

  In the foyer there sat straight-backed chairs on each side of a table, a perfect place for her to administer to both men at once. She seated Bevis and tore the shirt back from Tyson’s wound.

  “The ball has only grazed you, thank goodness, but the flesh is badly torn.” She turned to Bevis. “Well, your hair is not in the way of this wound. It looks to need only compresses.” And back to Tyson. “There are powder burns which I must clean and snip away, Tyson, or it will fester. It will be painful.” And then she ran to the end of the foyer and shouted, “Harriet, come now.”

  Vieve went about her ministrations with Harriet’s help. Tyson’s upper arm was badly torn and bled profusely. It was difficult for Vieve to work with the steady crimson flow, and many times she sighed in frustration. Finally, she was satisfied that there was no powder to infect the wound and passed the decanter of brandy to Tyson, picking up her threaded needle. “Do without a glass, Tyson. I suppose the only way to stop the bleeding is to sew it.”

  Watching her concentration, he smiled to himself as he tipped the fancy crystal decanter and took a hearty swallow. “I would not have thought you capable of this, madam. I commend you.”

  “You are my husband. I cannot have you maimed.”

  He chuckled lightly. “Are you sure you think of me and not yourself?”

  Though a light flush marked her cheeks for this teasing in front of the servants, she looked into his eyes and smiled warmly. “Can you be still, Tyson?”

  “Still as a rock, if you ask it of me.”

  She gave him a light kiss on his sweating brow, marveling at the way he withstood this painful tending without flinching or complaints. And though his jaw tensed and pulsed and perspiration stood out damp on his cheeks and brow, he never uttered a word. She was finished when the front door opened and Doré entered, stopping in astonishment when he sighted the infirmary in the foyer.

  “Well, monsieur, at last,” Tyson said, his voice slightly subdued.

  “What is it? What has happened here?”

  “An unknown intruder,” Vieve quickly explained. “Bevis was struck in the head, and Tyson was shot before he got away. Did you watch Andrew all night?”

  “I left him several hours ago, but I can assure you, it was not him. He had to be carried to his rooms, he was so drunk. Charles?”

  Tyson shook his head. “Whoever, he was not a large man, but moderate in size, perhaps small, and light of foot and swift. It was very dark. I didn’t see anything, but the departure was not that of a large or drunken man.”

  “Lenore?” Doré asked.

  Tyson again shook his head. “I was with her all evening. She forced my presence to discuss a certain anonymous buyer she has found for me.”

  Doré took a step closer. “Everyone is all right?”

  “We will mend,” Tyson assured him.

  Doré looked
at Vieve. “Petite? You are all right?”

  She nodded, her chin beginning to quiver slightly now that the emergency was past and real fear settled in.

  “Tyson,” Doré said. “We must consider that Lenore means to assure herself of your devotion...by doing away with your wife.”

  Tyson nodded, as if the thought had already crossed his mind. “There is very little left of the night, and from now on, we will be forced to give much attention to detail. Let’s get a little sleep now, for sleepless nights will surely come.” He turned to Bevis. “Enjoy your last night with the horses, mate. After tonight, your services will be required in the house.”

  Bevis nodded and, holding a damp rag to his head, departed. Harriet, for once stunned silent, lumbered up the stairs to her room. Doré smiled ruefully and turned only to throw the bolt on the front door. Vieve and Tyson were left alone in the foyer. Her brow was creased with concern.

  “Kiss me,” Tyson commanded.

  First surprise, then amusement showed in her eyes as she willingly bent her lips to his. But Tyson surprised her with a deep, searing kiss, his uninjured arm going around her waist and pulling her down on his knee. Though surprised by the strength and amorous nature of his kiss, she locked her slim fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and gave herself to his emotion. She tasted his warm mouth, parting her lips willingly for him, and a long while later, when he released her lips, she was breathless.

  “I mean for us to have many years together, my love,” he said softly. “You need not be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Christmas passed quietly in the Gervais household while all residents stayed close to home. Tyson kept his injured arm in a sling, and Bevis complained of headaches. Doré made only quick trips to the Latimer household. He met the housemaid, Mary Earwhick, behind the kitchens, and was home again quickly. Since Tyson had been injured, Doré grew restless with all the possibilities. “I had thought Monsieur Latimer concerned only with profit, and a killer by association rather than pure intent, but now I wonder if he is not just another cold-blooded murderer.”