Earth, Air, Fire, and Water 04 - A Treacherous Proposition

by Patricia Frances Rowell

  “Still, I am very grateful.” Diana accepted a second glassful of the sweet, amber wine from Lord Litton. What a luxury to have all she wished, even if her head did swim a bit.

  Litton topped off Vincent’s glass and returned to his seat. He glanced speculatively at his stepson. “The question is, who were those people? Unlikely that it is a kidnapping for ransom. There must be some other motive.”

  Diana emitted an unladylike snort. “I cannot imagine who would be so poorly informed as to believe I could pay ransom.”

  Vincent’s dark gaze bored into her. “Then what?”

  “I… I have no idea.” Oh, dear heaven! Could this be the work of her unidentified tormentor? But why would Deimos take the children? He already held the most terrifying threat against her. Still, she dared tell them nothing about him.

  At that moment Feetham appeared at the drawing room door and addressed Helen. “Lord St. Edmunds, my lady.”

  Vincent, narrowly preventing Bytham from wiping his hands on his stock again, set the boy down and came to his feet. Lord Litton followed suit. St. Edmunds hurried into the room on the heels of the butler. Vincent scowled. The lord wore a blue coat. But then, so did half the gentlemen of London.

  St. Edmunds sketched a hasty bow in Helen’s direction and turned to Diana. “Lady Diana, are you well? Are the children unhurt? I just heard the most appalling tale.”

  Diana could not like the man, no matter his show of concern. Still, she strove to speak politely. “Thank you, my lord. We had a very narrow escape. Had it not been for the intervention of Lord Lonsdale and Mr. Sudbury, my children would have been taken from me.”

  “Terrible. Terrible.” St. Edmunds pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “I could not believe my ears.”

  “And just where did you hear of the matter?” Vincent’s eyebrows lowered and his voice was cold.

  “At White’s, just this quarter-hour ago. I came at once.” St. Edmunds stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “I’m sure the episode is all over London by now.”

  “No doubt.” Lord Litton offered the newcomer a chair and provided him with a glass of sherry. “We were just discussing the matter. Clearly a case of ransom.”

  At that, Vincent’s eyebrows rose as high as they had been low a moment before. He did not stop glaring at St. Edmunds, but he did resume his chair. When Bytham would have climbed back into his lap, Vincent stopped him with a look and a gesture that sent him back to Diana. He then glanced speculatively at Litton.

  So did Diana.

  At his comment, St. Edmunds’s brow puckered. “Ransom? Do you think so? I would have thought…” He glanced at Diana and apparently decided on diplomacy. “Well, I suppose there is no saying.”

  How should she respond? Clearly, Vincent Ingleton harbored hostility toward St. Edmunds. And was that suspicion in his black eyes? Diana settled for shrugging. “I could not say, my lord. I am quite baffled.”

  “You should never have been allowed to go abroad without a footman.” St. Edmunds returned Vincent’s glare pointedly. “I trust you will not do so again.”

  “She will not.”

  At the vehemence in his tone, Diana gave Vincent a startled glance. Bristling for a heartbeat, she was on the verge of telling both their lordships that she would make her own decisions just as she always had, thank you very much. But could she, in truth? She feared the forces gathering around her might be beyond her ability to withstand.

  Vincent had thought the man would never leave. St. Edmunds had prated on about the terrors of the city, the insanity of the royalty and the incompetence of the Foreign Office. Not that Vincent didn’t agree with him on all counts. But he did not like the man, and he did not trust him any further than he could heave his very solid body.

  In the end he had Litton’s smooth manner to thank for ridding them of the loquacious lord. Thank the gods. Vincent had found himself ready to end the interview with a sharp shove down the stairs. But then, social skill had never been one of his strong suits.

  No doubt the reason he had just buried his last friend.

  “Well, now.” Litton returned from seeing St. Edmunds to the door and resumed his seat. “Where were we?”

  Vincent allowed himself a wry smile. “Contrary to more recent comments, I believe we were just saying that this attempt on the children was not done for ransom.” Bytham, evidently sensing the tension in the room lift, climbed down from the sofa and wriggled his way up onto Vincent’s knee again. Vincent let him come. He was growing to like the troublesome little sprat. But he had not wished to be encumbered by a child while St. Edmunds was in the room. The man made him wary.

  Litton returned the grin, then sobered. “No, it cannot be that. But I think Lady Diana is safer if no one has reason to think otherwise. Clearly, this is the work of desperate men. Otherwise they would not have killed one of their own.”

  A tense silence filled the room.

  Vincent drew in a long breath and it out slowly. “True.” He turned his gaze to Diana. “Can you truly think of no reason for this?”

  She hesitated a heartbeat too long. “I… No. It does not make sense.”

  “Did Wyn ever talk to you of his doings at the Foreign Office?”

  “Sometimes.” Her brow creased in thought. “Do you think this may have something to do with the business he did for them?”

  “Do you?” Vincent waited.

  She sat as if lost in thought for a minute, then raised her gaze to his. “I cannot think what.”

  Litton cleared his throat. “Did your husband ever mention Bonaparte? Anything about his exile?”

  “He may have. I…we…” Her cheeks turned pink. “He was very busy. I did not see much of him.”

  Had she wished to? Vincent knew Wyn spent little time at home. Had Diana waited alone, longing for his company? Had she loved him that much? Or had his neglect taken its toll on her feelings? He hoped it had. It would make things easier for her.

  That is, easier if he could protect her from her husband’s enemies. She must know something that threatened them—something that Wyn had told her. Could she truly not know what?

  His stepfather gave him a penetrating look. “Well, someone clearly considers Lady Diana to be a danger to them. This must be an attempt to control her. They will not stop with one attempt. What will you do now?”

  Vincent glanced across the room at Diana. “I will take her away.”

  She sat up, suddenly straighter. “What? What do you mean?”

  “You cannot stay in London. That should be evident. I will take you elsewhere.”

  Alarm filled her face. “But where can I go?”

  “Yorkshire, I think.”

  “Good.” Litton nodded. “There you have a choice— You can go to Inglewood or you are welcome to go to Three Oaks.”

  “Or to Wulfdale,” Helen spoke up. “Charles and Catherine would be willing to help.”

  Diana looked from one to the other, puzzled and sounding on the verge of panic. “Where is Inglewood? Who are Charles and Catherine?”

  “My brother and his wife. They live in the area of Inglewood, which is the Lonsdale estate,” Helen replied. “Charles and Adam are best of friends.”

  But Vincent knew where he would go. He would go to his own place, his own stronghold. There he would keep her safe. He glanced down at the little boy dozing on his lap. “Diana, the children are exhausted and so are you. Come, I’ll carry Bytham up. We will discuss our plans on the way.”

  “I’ll send Throckmorton to keep watch over them so that you will rest.” Litton stood as Diana rose reluctantly. “You will not worry with him on duty.”

  “Thank you. You have been so kind.” Diana’s breath caught and she quickly covered her mouth with one hand, tears visible in her lashes.

  Helen smiled. “Our pleasure, dear. Now do go up and rest.”

  Vincent guided Diana out of the room and up the stairs to the nursery door. “We will leave late tonight, as secretl
y as possible. I have…business I must attend to first. You need to pack everything we can carry in one traveling coach. I don’t know how long we will be gone.”

  She paused outside the nursery door. “I suppose we must go. I cannot risk the children again.”

  “No. Whoever did this has shown that they do not scruple to take a life. Since they failed to take your children hostage, their next attempt may be to kill you.”

  He watched the blood drain out of her face as she tried to answer. “If only I understood…”

  He studied her expression. “Are you sure you do not?”

  Her gaze fell to her hands and she shook her head. Vincent reached out and took her chin between his thumb and finger, lifting her face to study it for the truth. Instead the impulse to kiss her almost overpowered him. He hastily turned her face to the light. The scraped place on her cheek was beginning to bruise, as well.

  Someone would die for that.

  Chapter Four

  As she stumbled along the narrow, odoriferous alley, a chilly breeze brushed against Diana’s cheek, eliciting a small shudder. She started as somewhere in one of the mews a dog barked, only to be silenced by a sharp command. The setting moon shed but faint light over the way, and Diana, encumbered by Bytham’s limp form in her arms, tripped over a loose cobble.

  Lord Litton’s firm hand on her elbow steadied her and she glanced at Selena, half asleep in his arms. In spite of his burden, his lordship moved through the night with a watchful eye, followed closely by the exceedingly large footman called Throckmorton.

  Diana viewed this addition to the party with mixed feelings. The presence of a veritable giant with the battered features of a former pugilist might prove comforting—if she could believe in his loyalty. Loyalty to her. But could she? At this point her enemies might be anyone. She had been forced to put her faith in Vincent Ingleton and Lord and Lady Litton, but were they truly her friends? They had been so kind, she could hardly think otherwise, but now… In the night, in the dark of the alley, she couldn’t be sure of anything.

  Where were his lordship and his burly henchman taking her?

  She had not seen Vincent since they had parted at the nursery door. Her baggage had been taken away hours earlier in Litton’s coach, and he assured her that they were going to meet Vincent.

  But why were they proceeding in this clandestine fashion?

  For that matter, was she wise to cast her whole dependence on Vincent as she had been doing? She had hardly proved herself a good judge of character in the past, she thought wryly. Diana had never quite understood Lonsdale’s motives in removing her from her home so precipitately. She began to wish herself back in the safety of the Litton town house—or even her own former quarters.

  She wanted to seize her children and bolt.

  But that represented no more safety than her present destination.

  Whatever it might be.

  No, for now she must trust, warily perhaps, but trust in someone. Not far ahead, tucked up against the mews, the outline of a dark coach loaded with trunks emerged from the gloom. The coachman in his powdered wig and top hat slumped on the box as if dozing. At the sound of their approach he sat up and peered down at them. Lord Litton opened the door and lifted Selena onto the seat. She murmured a drowsy protest before curling up and again sinking into slumber. He then took Bytham from Diana so that she could enter. For a moment she hesitated, afraid to let the children be separated, even for a moment.

  Apparently sensing her uncertainty, he stepped in front of her and placed the boy on the other seat, then turned to help her, patting her gently on the shoulder. “Do not be afraid, my lady. All will be well.”

  Diana nodded mutely and settled herself beside Selena. She felt the carriage rock as Throckmorton climbed onto the box and the lamps flickered into light. A moment later the coachman startled her by climbing inside. Before she could question this unorthodox procedure, he shrugged out of his greatcoat and tossed his wig aside.

  “Vincent!”

  He grinned his crooked grin. “Just so.”

  “But why this masquerade?”

  “For your safety. And mine. There are reasons you needn’t…” He glanced out the window as the coach lurched forward. “I don’t want us to be followed.”

  The carriage rounded a corner and set off at a brisk trot. “Is Throckmorton driving? He is coming with us?”

  “Aye.” A crease formed between his black brows. “It seems so. Litton insisted I bring him. Throckmorton has been in his employ for several years. Litton says he is reliable and very…useful.”

  “But you do not sound as though you are pleased.”

  “I don’t know him well enough.”

  “Do you not trust him?”

  He gave her an appraising look and replied gravely, “I don’t trust anyone.”

  In fact, Vincent had no real reason not to trust the redoubtable Throckmorton. He just found it healthier to be wary of all comers. But he had to admit that the reinforcement represented by the footman might prove invaluable if it came to a fight.

  He only wished he could completely trust Diana.

  She was obviously holding something back whenever he asked about possible enemies. But what? He sat opposite her in the coach with the boy sleeping beside him on the seat. Diana leaned wearily in the corner with Selena’s head on her lap. Vincent hated the dark bruise on her cheek. In a few hours he would see that she had a chance to rest.

  She sighed and looked at him. “Where are we going, my lord?”

  “To Inglewood, eventually, but I do not want to go directly. I’m sure that whoever is harrying you will look for us there sooner or later, but I hope to delay their finding us until I am ready for them. It will be easier to protect you there than it is in London—and much easier than to do so on the road. When they find us, we will know who they are.”

  Diana pressed a closed hand against her mouth. “Why, Vincent? Why are they doing this? Why would anyone take my children?”

  “I am not perfectly sure, but, as Litton said, it must be that they desire a way of controlling you.” He studied her expression intently. “What do you know, Diana? And whom would it harm?”

  “I don’t know!” Her voice rose on a hint of impending panic. “It must be something someone thinks Wyn told me, but we did not spend much time together. He was always very…busy.”

  Vincent nodded. Certainly her husband had neglected her. But that did not mean the garrulous rascal never talked to her. “He is bound to have said something. Some reference to some group of people perhaps?”

  She stared thoughtfully out the window for several heartbeats. “I cannot think… Well, yes. He once or twice said something about ‘St. Edmunds’s people,’ as though I would know who he meant, but I don’t. Except for his lordship, of course.”

  “Did he ever mention Lord or Lady Holland?”

  “Well, yes. We used to be invited to their home, and Wyn would go. I—I had stopped going into society. I could not afford…” He could not see the embarrassed flush in the dark, but he could hear it in her voice. “Why are you asking about them?”

  “They are admirers of Bonaparte. There are some English folk who would like to see him replace the Bourbon king.”

  Diana shook her head. “Who replaced him only months ago? Can no one ever be satisfied? How many English lives were lost fighting him?”

  “Far too many, and if any attempt to restore him is made, there will be many, many more.”

  Diana glanced down at her daughter and smoothed the pale hair spread across her lap. “I would that my children might grow up in a peaceful world. I cannot bear the thought that one day Bytham might have to go as a soldier.”

  “If I have anything to say in the matter, at least he will not have to fight Bonaparte.” Vincent leaned forward and peered out the window into the dark. “I need to be able to see. Excuse me.”

  Before she could ask him questions he wished to avoid, he pounded on the roof of the carriage. It c
ame to a jolting halt and he donned his wig and coat and got out and climbed onto the box with Throckmorton. At least here he would not be so painfully aware of her presence as in the close confines of the carriage. Would not have to inhale her subtle fragrance. Not have to fight the impulse to touch her, to take her in his arms and devour her soft mouth.

  They rumbled along at the best speed they could in the darkness for several hours. Vincent was obliged to look sharp to make out landmarks in the gloom. At last he signaled Throckmorton to pull up.

  “How far are we from the Ashwell fork, do you think?” he asked of his new bodyguard.

  “I dunno, me lord. It’s been dunnamany years since I come this way.” The big man shoved his white wig aside to scratch his brown-haired pate. “But we ain’t come to the Ivel bridge yet. We can turn just past that, but I’m thinking Ashwell’s out of our way if you purpose going to Yorkshire.”

  “We’ll get to Yorkshire.” Vincent nodded. “Continue.”

  Throckmorton gave the horses the office to start, and a mile or two later the wheels clattered across the bridge. Another quarter hour brought the fork into view.

  “Pull up.” Vincent waited until the horses slowed and took the reins from Throckmorton. “Go take a look at that grove to our left. See if there is room to get the carriage out of sight.”

  “Aye, sir.” The big man climbed down and ambled cautiously into the trees. After several minutes he returned. “It’ll be tight, me lord, but I think we can make her fit. Ain’t no one going to see us in this light.” They pulled the coach into the trees, turned it so that it could be driven straight out, and doused the lamps.

  And then they sat.

  And they waited.

  The night wind murmured in the trees and somewhere an abbreviated screech and a triumphant “Who-hoo!” announced that a tiny life had ended as an owl’s dinner. Only the faintest starlight illuminated the road. Vincent sat patiently. They would come. He need only await them. And then, between one breath and the next, in the distance hoofbeats sounded. Quickly he went to the horses’ heads to keep them quiet.