True, in some vague way she had wondered what might happen if some rebel demanded the parcel or uncovered her own part in this plan.
But in the end, she had agreed.
She had wanted so much to believe this was her chance....
She sank onto her bed. How could she have been such a fool?
Now, because of her ineptitude, she had put not only her own life in danger, but the life of an innocent child as well. For if Atwood's superiors would be unforgiving to one of their own agents, they would be doubly so when it came to someone who was not in their employ.
Someone like a child who had stumbled onto a deadly secret.
No. Lucy would be fine. She would be safe, Emily vowed to herself fiercely.
Emily had been shunted aside while death had claimed her own daughter. She had felt helpless. Responsible. Certain it was her fault that her child had died, that if she had been with Jenny, she could have held back the hand of death.
She would not be rendered helpless again.
She would not allow another child to suffer because of her mistakes.
Emily stood up and hurried over to a cracked looking glass that hung on the wall. The reflection staring back at her was ravaged by the multitude of emotions that had racked her this day. But the eyes that were ringed with blue smudges of exhaustion stared back at her with hard resolve.
After Ian Blackheath and his niece had left the shop, Emily had wanted nothing more than to block their existence from her mind and heart.
But now... now there was no help for it. After straightening the shop, she would hire a horse to take her to Blackheath plantation.
Emily couldn't stop the shimmer of unease that came to her eyes.
She would offer anything, say anything, do anything, to protect Lucy Dubbonet from this danger—even if she had to wade through a hundred of Ian Blackheath's mistresses in the process.
Chapter 5
Ian stalked into the dining room at Blackheath Hall, his lips compressed in a white line. His shirt and waistcoat hung open, exposing a generous vee of hair-roughened chest. A fresh gash, an inch long, angled to the left of his chin, and his eyes glittered dangerously beneath heavy dark brows.
Those eyes fixed on Anthony Gray with unholy menace.
"If you laugh, damn your hide, I'll flay you alive!"
Gray contemplated him over the rim of a goblet of wine, his lips quivering with the effort it took to keep them in a solemn line. "My dear Ian, I know we rarely stand on ceremony here, but you might consider covering yourself decently. Buttoning your shirt, for example. Fastening your waistcoat."
"I would be happy to do so if it were not for one small problem," Ian said between gritted teeth. "Tell me, do you see any fastenings on my shirt? Look here, at my waistcoat—my favorite cursed waistcoat," Ian snarled, holding the placket of the vest toward his friend. "Do you see any buttons?"
Tony's throat worked convulsively as he examined the shredded threads that still clung to the cloth where the elegant rows of buttons should have been. "My dear fellow, they seem to have gone missing," Tony observed. "Don't tell me. You've had a tiff with one of your mistresses and she's gotten revenge."
"My mistresses aren't sly enough for this kind of a coup. No. It was that hell-spawned niece of mine, taking her pound of flesh! Or rather her pound of buttons."
"Lucy?"
"She was vexed with me because she saw some infernal doll at the dressmaker's shop this afternoon and she wanted it."
"I've always taken you for a reasonably intelligent man," Tony interjected. "You should have struck your colors and surrendered the field at once. Bought her the doll and saved yourself a cartload of trouble."
Ian flung himself into a chair. "I tried, by God's blood. But the blasted dressmaker wouldn't sell it! She said the ladies must be able to view the latest fashions," Ian mimicked, "and damn the cost to me! Hell, by the time I was done, I would have traded you to get the doll and have Lucy leave me in peace."
"Sounds like a most desperate situation, eh?"
"Let's just say that Lucy totally destroyed the woman's shop in her fury. Then the little wretch ran away. I found her three hours later in Applebea's garden sipping lemonade, cool as you please, while regaling the town's biggest gossip about everything that has happened since she arrived at Blackheath Hall last night—including my more colorful language and the fact that I was roaring drunk."
"Oh, Lord, that... that is unfortunate," Tony choked out, his eyes sparkling.
Ian took a gulp of wine from his goblet, as if to sustain himself for the story to come.
"You know I'm a reasonable man, Tony. I tried to remember what you had said about being tolerant with the girl. I tried to soothe her. Cozen her. Bloody bribe her, for God's sake. The whole way home I kept telling her it wasn't my fault that I couldn't get her the doll, that I'd get her another one the next time we went to town, but the hell-spawned brat just sat there with that look on her face."
"That look?"
"The one that makes me want to check to see if she's set my coattails afire. When we got home, off she went, meek as some little cherub." Ian's jaw knotted. "I should have known there would be trouble."
Tony tried manfully to squelch a chuckle. "You perceive me positively agog with curiosity."
"I go into my study to enjoy a little Madeira and read a bit of that John Locke I've been picking at," Ian continued in long-suffering accents. "Then I retire upstairs to prepare for dinner. I'm leaned back in my chair, with Priam shaving me, when she comes sashaying in."
"Into your bed chamber?"
"Yes, by God, bold as you please. She told me that before her papa died, she used to watch him shave every morning. It was her favorite time. Well, what the blazes could I say to that? She leaned against my knees, watching for a while. And I must say she looked particularly winning—she's a fetching little thing when she gives you that big-eyed look. I was actually beginning to be amused by her chatter. Until she smiled the most poisonous smile I've ever seen and told me that she had taken the 'cunning little scissors' out of Mrs. Willoby's sewing basket and snipped every button off every coat and waistcoat I own. I came out of the chair like cannon shot, causing Priam to lay open my chin. I flung open the clothespress, and sure enough, the little demon had taken every button I owned. She had also shredded my neckcloths and cut the fastenings off my breeches."
"Good God," Tony chortled. "You must have been swearing like a sinner trapped in church."
"The only fastenings she didn't cut up," Ian continued, "were the ones on the shirt I loaned her to sleep in last night. And that is only because the little hellion won't give it back!"
"How... enterprising of her." Twin imps danced in Gray's eyes. "Perhaps you could pay her a ransom for the return of the buttons—say, a fortune in peppermint drops or nonpareils."
"Unless I decide to drown the little wretch, which is not out of the question at the moment. In any event, the buttons are lost for good. You see, she 'adored' listening to the sound they made when they plopped into the well."
"I shall have to try doing that myself sometime. Tell me, is she joining us for dinner so that I can ask her to explain the proper technique?"
"That depends on whether or not she has any instinct for survival. I shan't be surprised if Cook serves her up a hemlock tart."
"Come now! Not only is Mattie the finest cook in Virginia, she also loves children! She usually has half a dozen of the little beggars trailing after her."
Ian arched one brow, his mouth grim. "Let's just say that it's hard work ruining someone's entire wardrobe. It made Lucy 'intolerable hungry.' So she slipped down into the pantry for a snack. The apples were all so lovely that she couldn't make up her mind which one to eat. So she took one bite out of every apple in the barrel. Next, she opened a whole shelf full of Mattie's preserves and took a finger full of each."
Tony gave a snort of laughter. "Ian, don't be absurd! How could such a little thing get those jars open?"
/> "I don't know!" Ian snarled. "She probably snapped them off with her teeth. All I'm interested in right now is whether or not you've written a letter of introduction for the little hellcat to that school your sister went to."
Tony extended a folded sheet of paper, his seal in wax at the edges. "Here you are, sir. But after hearing about this campaign the child has mounted, I think it would be more useful to nail her into a keg and ship her off to Samuel Adams in Boston. She seems even more adept at fomenting rebellion than he is."
"Ah, yes, this is all incredibly amusing," Ian said caustically. "A revolution would be a relief in comparison to housing that child beneath my roof!"
"Come, now, Ian. It's not like you to preach propriety. Remember when we were at Hargrove's and the Latin master whipped me for neglecting to learn how to conjugate my verbs? As I recall, you filled his shoes up with honey."
"That was different! The bastard deserved it."
"Obviously Lucy thinks you deserve to be tormented, too," Tony reasoned. "It couldn't have been pleasant being greeted the way she was last night."
Ian sputtered a protest, but Gray held up one hand. "I know that you'd had one devil of a night and that you were half drowned in brandy, but that was hardly Lucy's fault. Nor was it Lucy's fault that she was orphaned and dumped on your doorstep. Give the little one a chance to adjust, and I'm sure these childish pranks will stop. You must be patient with the poor little moppet."
"Gray, you don't have the least idea what I am dealing with here!" Ian snapped. "I'm half crazed with wondering what the devil she'll do next."
Ian's words were cut off by a howl of dismay from the corridor beyond.
He swore. "Unfortunately I think we're about to find out."
At that instant the dining room door slammed open and Lucy raced in, her rose-pink satin somewhat crumpled, her hands hidden suspiciously behind her back.
Three steps behind her was Ian's most trusted groom. Ian had seen the man deal with countless stable yard disasters—stallions gone wild, mares nearly dying while bringing forth their foals. There had even been a stable fire once that old Buckley had single-handedly managed to extinguish while saving every animal in the barn.
But this time the groom looked as if he'd been dragged through a battlefield under the belly of one of his cherished horses. "Oh, sir!" he pleaded brokenly. "Pray, it was not my fault! I do a good job, I do, watching over the darlings. I'd never have allowed her to... if I had known. I—"
"Calm yourself, Buckley," Ian commanded. "Lucy, what the blazes have you done now?"
"I used the cunning little scissors again," Lucy said, flouncing over to take a seat beside Tony. "I just couldn't resist—"
"I had given him a share of oats and some water." Buckley was rattling on like a battle-shocked soldier. "I was taking care of him just as I always have. But when I went to get cloths to rub him down, she'd cut off his tail!"
"Oh, Lord, not Ian's stallion!" Tony choked into his wine with horrified amusement.
"No, s-sir!" Buckley stammered. "Not Master Ian's. She... she did it to your mount!"
The look on Gray's face would have been alarming if Ian had not enjoyed it so much. At that instant Lucy pulled her hands from behind her back, displaying the shiny little scissors and a thick, silky braid of tail hair tied up in strips cut from one of Ian's neckcloths.
"You can have this back now, Mr. Gray," she said sweetly, placing the rope of horsehair on Tony's empty plate. "I'm all done practicing my braiding."
"Have it... back..." Tony wheezed, staggering to his feet. "By God, I—"
"Whoa, now, Gray," Ian cautioned, holding up one hand. "Remember what you said about childish pranks a few moments ago?"
"My horse! My... By God..." Tony groped across the table, scooping up the scissors. "I'll teach you a lesson, you little wretch! I'll shear your hair and practice tying it about your neck!"
With a wail, Lucy raced out the dining room door, upsetting a servant and sending a glass tree of sweetmeats shattering against the wall.
Ian raced after her in hot pursuit, knowing he'd better get hold of her before Tony made good his threat. The child would have been far wiser to snip off Tony's own locks than to crop those of his cherished stallion.
"Lucy! Lucy, I order you to stop this instant!" Ian bellowed, racing down the hall. She was heading for the front door at full tilt. Hell, he'd spent half the afternoon searching for her in town; he wasn't going to spend the night searching for her on his own lands.
With a cry, she threw open the heavy door and careened out into the darkness. In desperation, Ian hurled himself toward her, catching a handful of her skirts. There was a ripping sound and a cry of a very different sort, as Ian and the child tumbled onto the wide front step. Ian grabbed the child's ankle as she wailed and kicked.
"Ian, quick, take my neckcloth," Tony snarled, shoving the scarf toward him. "Truss her up before she can do any more damage!"
At that instant Ian became aware of the clicking of heels hastening toward them from the carriage circle, a waterfall of pale blue skirts all but engulfing them. "I think that is just about enough, all of you!"
"Shut up and make yourself useful, whoever the hell you are! Grab her arms!" Ian ordered, arching his head back to glare up that fall of skirts. He hadn't expected to see the dark-haired figure that stood glaring down at him with affronted violet eyes.
He groaned inwardly as he looked into the indignant face of Emily d'Autrecourt, illuminated by the flicker of lights on either side of the doorway.
"You should be ashamed of yourselves!" she scolded. "Two grown men picking on a child!"
"That's no child!" Tony blustered. "She—"
In one fluid movement Emily scooped the little girl out of Ian's astonished grasp. Lucy flung her arms around the woman, clinging to her as if she was caught in a raging river and Emily d'Autrecourt was a rope.
"Have a care, madam!" Tony cried out warning. "The little wretch bites!"
"I don't bite!" Lucy cried, outraged. "It is very naughty to bite!"
Ian swore under his breath as he levered himself to a sitting position.
Lucy continued with wounded dignity. "I only wanted to practice braiding, and the horse had such lovely long hair! I didn't think the horse would miss it if I took just a little! But he started chasing me and said he would take the scissors and cut off my hair.”
Ian got to his feet, feeling surly and defensive and more embarrassed than he'd ever been in his life.
"Mrs. d'Autrecourt, after the way Lucy behaved in your shop, you above anyone should know what she's capable of! Now, as you can see, we are rather busy at present, so just... just dump whatever clothes you've brought for her in the hallway, and we'll settle the bill later."
"I haven't brought any clothing. There is something I need to discuss with..." Those huge violet eyes shifted from Lucy's tear-streaked face to his furious one, and the sentence trailed off. Ian couldn't be certain if the woman had stopped because of the expression in his eyes or in Lucy's. "Mr. Blackheath, I've come a very long way. If I could just have a few moments of your time."
"Oh, bloody hell," Ian said, getting to his feet. "Come in, then. Things can hardly get any worse than they already are."
Ian grasped Lucy by the shoulders and glared into his niece's belligerent face. "Lucy, I shall tell Cook to send a supper tray to your room. If you so much as touch a single apple, a single jar of preserves, a single horse, or a single button on these premises, I will personally snip off every curl on your head. Do we understand each other?"
"You are terrible mean!" the child shrilled, yanking away from him. "I want to go back to Vicar Clyvedon's!"
"It's too late! I doubt a heavenly mandate could make him take you back!"
"I don't want to stay with you anymore!"
"Believe me," Ian shouted, "I'm trying to remedy that situation as quickly as I can! Now, go."
The little girl turned and swept regally into the house. Silence fell. Even the us
ually loquacious Tony was at a loss for words. Probably, Ian thought with grim amusement, Gray was still in shock from the attack upon his treasured stallion.
"I suppose introductions are in order," Ian said, feeling ridiculous. "Mrs. Emily d'Autrecourt, this is Mr. Anthony Gray. Tony, this is the lady whose shop Lucy destroyed this morning before she ran away."
Tony gave the woman a look filled with soulful commiseration. "I'm terribly sorry."
But Ian wasn't specifically certain what Tony was expressing his regret over—the ruined shop, the shorn stallion, or ever having set foot on Blackheath land to begin with.
"If you will, madam?" Ian said, gesturing to the open door. A gaggle of servants, who had been watching the tussle with Lucy with great interest, scattered to the corners of the house, only poor Buckley standing there, sniffling into the dirty sleeve of his shirt.
"I didn't know she was a demon! I didn't know. Poor shorn darling. The whole stable yard will be pure laughing at him."
Ian stalked down the hallway and entered his study, the sound of Emily d'Autrecourt's footsteps following him. He didn't turn to look at her; he only went to a wooden stand and poured himself a glass of Madeira.
He heard the woman softly shut the door. "Mr. Blackheath, I'm afraid we have a—a small problem."
"A small problem?" Ian echoed with a harsh laugh. "That would be pleasant for a change!"
"Yes. Well, you see, Lucy..." the woman seemed to hesitate for a moment. "You remember the doll that Lucy wanted from my shop?"
"Vaguely. Considering that she almost crowned us both with a shelf when she didn't get it."
"Well, you see, I was looking for it just after you left, and..."
Ian turned to look at her, a muscle in his jaw throbbing. "And?"
Emily d'Autrecourt seemed only to stare at him, a kind of dazed light in her eyes. Her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, and she seemed to forcibly tear her gaze away from him. "And I think that—that she might have... have..."
The Raider’s Bride Page 8
