Nicole Jordan

by Wicked Fantasy

  Deverill smiled faintly. “You might also mention that if necessary, Brandon will apply to the British courts and bring suit against Maitland Shipping to insure his vessels are delivered as promised. But that would be tedious and expensive. And I expect a nobleman like Heward would prefer to keep our dispute quiet. I myself would prefer to avoid an altercation, since I want Maitland Shipping to continue building our ships.”

  “Very well, I will tell him,” Antonia replied.

  “The missing ships aren’t my only concern, either,” Deverill said as they crossed the street to enter the park. “I don’t believe that Heward is the best man to advise you. Or that Trant is the kind of director your father would want in charge of his legacy.”

  Antonia gave Deverill a cool glance. “You wouldn’t be basing your opinion on personal dislike, would you?”

  His mouth curved briefly. “I admit I don’t much like Heward, but in this case, my qualms are based on his business practices. Since he took over as your adviser, Maitland Shipping has developed a reputation for being ruthless, some might even say unprincipled.”

  “Pray what are you talking about?” she demanded, not liking Deverill’s suggestion that the company’s reputation had diminished. “What practices have they engaged in?”

  “For one thing, they’ve crushed several smaller competitors by hiring away their captains and spreading unfounded rumors about their ships being unseaworthy.”

  The accusation concerned her greatly, yet even if it was true, that didn’t mean Lord Heward was behind it; Director Trant was the more likely culprit.

  Antonia found herself rallying to her betrothed’s defense. “I expect there must be a mistake. Lord Heward would never do anything dishonorable.”

  “I’m not so certain about that. There are other rumors about Heward’s business dealings also, some even more unsavory.”

  She gave Deverill a sharp glance. “What rumors?”

  His unexpected hesitation surprised her. “I’m not certain I should tell you. I don’t want you running back to Heward and sharing my suspicions.”

  Antonia felt herself stiffen. Deverill was treating her like a child—or worse, a helpless woman without a brain in her head. “I am not one to bear tales, Mr. Deverill.”

  He shook his head slowly. “On second thought, I might do better to discuss it with your trustee and leave you out of it altogether. I don’t want to put you in any danger with Heward.”

  “Tell me, Deverill! Before I ride off and leave you right here.”

  He scrutinized her for another moment, as if debating whether he could trust her. “Very well. I’ve heard two different reports about Maitland Shipping running slaves.”

  “Slaves?” Antonia repeated blankly. “But slavery was abolished in Britain nearly a decade ago.”

  “True, but the profit is immense enough to make the risk worthwhile for unscrupulous merchants.”

  The allegation startled her into silence. Unscrupulous; there was that word again, Antonia thought, disquieted. It was the second time Deverill had used it in conjunction with Lord Heward. She wanted to hurl the accusation back in Deverill’s face, but when she examined his expression, she knew he was deadly serious. Another sudden reflection also made her hesitate: Her father might have trusted Heward, but then Papa had also trusted Deverill, for many more years.

  “You are saying you think Heward is unscrupulous?” she asked carefully, keeping her tone noncommittal.

  “I am saying,” Deverill replied, “that I suspect Heward of colluding with your new director in illegal activities, specifically transporting slaves.”

  Antonia eyed him with a troubled frown. “Those are grave accusations, Mr. Deverill. Do you have any proof of your suspicions?”

  “No, but rumors have a way of being true, and you ought to have them investigated. Your father would have adamantly opposed using his vessels to transport slaves.”

  Dismayed, Antonia nodded. Her father had despised the very idea of slavery. It alarmed her to think Deverill’s charges might have even an ounce of merit.

  “But you will need to step carefully,” he added. “You can’t mention a word of this to either Heward or Trant. Alerting them will only give them the opportunity to hide the evidence.”

  “I assure you, I won’t breathe a whisper to Lord Heward,” Antonia responded. “I don’t want him thinking for one moment that I don’t trust him—because I do. Besides . . . have you considered that he may be entirely innocent? He could very well have been duped by Trant.”

  “If so, then he isn’t properly supervising his hireling and shouldn’t be in charge of your father’s legacy.”

  Antonia’s frown darkened. It was indeed possible she had made a grave mistake by letting Heward appoint Trant as director. “Very well, presuming Trant is guilty . . . then how do I investigate?”

  “The barrister who oversees your fortune in trust is considered highly reputable. Can you vouch that he has your best interests at heart?”

  “Phineas Cochrane? Why, he is one of the most honest men I have ever met,” Antonia declared. “Papa trusted him implicitly, and so do I.”

  “Then you can begin by having him carefully examine the account books. As your trustee, Cochrane is obliged to periodically review your holdings to see how they are being managed, so his scrutiny shouldn’t raise any undue suspicions.”

  “But what would that prove?”

  “It could expose any irregularities . . . any vast sums unaccounted for. The tonnage for each merchantman is fixed, and a captain must record cargo. Since slaves fetch ten times the price of tea, it shouldn’t be hard to determine if your captains are falsifying ladings. Unless they are pocketing the extra profit, in which case, you need to know.”

  Antonia’s frown deepened. “And if they are?”

  “Then you will have a harder time rooting out the problem. You’ll need to put agents on each of your vessels to report directly to you.”

  When her mare suddenly shied at a passing curricle, Antonia had to direct her attention to maintaining her seat. And when she had the horse under control once more, she shook herself. Deverill’s suspicions were purely speculation as yet. She would not leap to any conclusions. Lord Heward and Director Trant should be considered innocent until proven otherwise.

  “Very well, I will have Phineas look into the matter,” she told Deverill.

  “If you need help in any way, I am staying at Grillon’s Hotel,” Deverill offered, naming a fashionable hostelry on Albemarle Street.

  “Thank you, but I believe I can manage.” She didn’t want Deverill interfering with her concerns; if there was a problem with Maitland Shipping, then she would have her trustee deal with it. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Deverill, I came here to ride.”

  She urged her horse into a canter, leaving him to follow if he wished.

  Deverill did wish. Yet he was satisfied that he’d given Antonia a warning to ponder. He’d seen the understanding in her keen eyes; the concerns he’d raised about Heward and her director had troubled her. She wanted to protect her father’s legacy even more than Deverill did.

  And even if, as a woman, she was at a disadvantage in the exclusively masculine world of the merchant marine, she was intelligent and shrewd enough to find a way to scrutinize the operations of the company she’d inherited.

  He did not, however, intend to tell Antonia of his suspicions regarding the much more emotional subject of her father’s death. In the first place, she was unlikely to believe him, Deverill reasoned. She didn’t know him well enough to trust him over and above the nobleman she planned to marry. And if she did credit the possibility of murder, then she might be disturbed enough to confront Heward directly about the accusations. And that would not only warn the baron he was being investigated, but conceivably put the housekeeper, as his accuser, in danger as well.

  In any case, Deverill knew he would have to proceed cautiously, since he couldn’t come right out and accuse an English baron of murder wit
hout solid proof. In the British justice system, a nobleman was nearly inviolate. The privilege of peerage dictated that a lord must be tried by a jury of his peers. Thus, to be convicted required irrefutable evidence.

  Still, he wished there were some means of persuading Antonia to postpone her betrothal announcement until he could be certain her life wasn’t in danger. He would have to think of a way, Deverill told himself as he watched her cantering up ahead.

  Admiring her straight back and elegant figure in her tailored riding habit of chocolate brown broadcloth, he held back until they reached the end of Rotten Row and then caught up with her as she drew her horse to a halt. From her bright eyes, he could tell her mood had lightened after all their talk of scruples and slavery, and he resolved to lighten it even further.

  With a nod, Deverill indicated the grass field to their left. “Let’s give our horses their heads. Your mare is itching for a run, and so are you.”

  Antonia glanced around them, probably to see who might be observing. The park was sparsely populated just now, with a few dozen riders and pedestrians and governesses supervising young children.

  When she hesitated, Deverill pressed her. “Come, I dare you. A race to that stand of trees.”

  Antonia wrinkled her nose. “A lady does not race through the park like a hoyden,” she intoned primly, as if quoting the mistresses of the elite academy she had attended, although Deverill heard a hint of wry amusement in her voice. “But I do admit you tempt me sorely.”

  “I will give you a head start if you are worried about being defeated.”

  A flash of defiance sparked in her blue eyes, and she replied to his insulting offer with disdain. “You are riding a hired hack, Mr. Deverill. My mare will leave you in the dust.”

  “You are welcome to prove it.”

  He saw the struggle on her face as she debated the wisdom of accepting his challenge, so to tip the scales, he tossed out another provoking remark. “Ah, I see. You fear what your betrothed will say if he hears of you acting like a hoyden.”

  Antonia’s brows narrowed at that. “Lord Heward has nothing to say about how I conduct myself.”

  “You mean to claim that you are your own woman?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Good. And if he objects to your immodest behavior, you can blame your corruption on me.”

  Glancing back at her groom, she asked him to wait there for her before nodding at Deverill. “Whenever you are ready, sir.”

  “Now,” he said, spurring his horse forward.

  Beside him, Antonia urged her eager mare into a gallop.

  For a moment, the pounding hooves remained in rhythm, but then she bent low over her horse’s neck and easily moved ahead of Deverill on his slower chestnut.

  He heard the reckless joy in her laughter as the wind snatched it away, saw the exhilaration in every line of her body as she won by six lengths.

  “That was glorious!” Antonia exclaimed with another exuberant laugh as she pulled up.

  When he drew his own horse to a halt beside her, Deverill found his attention riveted on her. Her smile was dazzling, her ivory complexion flushed with exertion, as if she’d just indulged in a passionate bout of lovemaking. Her auburn hair, which was pinned in a sleek chignon beneath a plumed shako hat, had suffered from the gallop, so that flaming tendrils now spilled around her lovely face. But it was the excitement in her eyes that affected him most. The blue depths were filled with a brilliant vitality and warmth that called to the adventurer in him.

  Deverill drew a sharp breath as a jolt of pure desire shot through him; he couldn’t remember being this hard this swiftly.

  Yet Antonia didn’t seem in the least aware of her allure as she turned her mare to ride more sedately back the way they had come.

  “Quitting so soon?” Deverill queried, wishing he could preserve the moment.

  “Indeed, I am. I’ve indulged in more than enough immodest conduct for one morning.”

  “Not because you fear a rematch?”

  Her eyes still bright with laughter, Antonia sent him an accusatory glance. “Oh, no, Mr. Deverill. I have your measure. And I refuse to let you provoke me into any further displays of wildness.”

  “I hardly provoked you,” Deverill prevaricated.

  “You did so. You lured me into behaving like a hoyden.”

  He returned a wicked grin. “Yes, but you enjoyed every moment of it, admit it.”

  She dimpled. “Perhaps. But I won’t let it happen again. I intend to make a valiant effort to recoup a modicum of decorum.”

  “A pity,” he said truthfully, his fingers tensing with the urge to drag Antonia off her horse and pull her beneath him.

  Watching her glowing eyes and ripe mouth, he was hard-pressed not to act on his primal male urges. She was vibrant and intoxicatingly alive—he’d recognized that about Antonia from the first. She relished life, possibly as much as he did. He could no longer deny he wanted her in his bed.

  He knew what her lovemaking would be like: eager and hot, passionate and wild. She would meet his every challenge with spirit and fire, retaliating with challenges of her own.

  It was damned difficult to picture her wed to the suave, aristocratic, undoubtedly cold-blooded Baron Heward. Just the image made Deverill shudder.

  In truth, he was growing more and more certain that Antonia, with her vitality and love of life, would not be happy in such a mismatched union, no matter that she’d convinced herself otherwise.

  “You are making a damnable mistake, you know,” he said into the silence.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “By marrying Heward. He’s entirely the wrong husband for you.”

  For a moment she just stared at Deverill speechlessly. Then her eyebrow arched coolly. “And what leads you to that opinion?”

  “He’s a cold fish, and you’re a warm, vibrant gypsy at heart.”

  Her eyes widening at his audacity, she pressed her lips together briefly before she carefully formed a reply. “Lord Heward is handsome, witty, intelligent, wealthy, titled . . . as well as being my father’s choice for me. What more could a lady wish for in a husband?”

  Deverill’s voice was dry when he replied. “Integrity, honor, honesty, perhaps?”

  He could see the annoyance flash in Antonia’s eyes. “I’ll thank you to refrain from making unfounded accusations out of pique. Just because you dislike Heward is no reason to impugn his honor.”

  Deverill drew a long breath, striving for patience. “I don’t blame you for wanting a title, a place in society—especially when it’s what your father wished for you. But surely there are other noblemen eager to win your hand.”

  “Oh, dozens,” Antonia said, her tone a touch sardonic. “All more interested in my fortune than in me.”

  He resisted pointing out that Heward was after the same thing. “I’m sure Heward is the very paragon of desirable manhood, but I think you should find another candidate for your husband,” Deverill said instead.

  “But I don’t want any other husband.”

  “Then at least postpone your nuptials until you have a chance to determine Heward’s complicity in the slavery scheme.”

  Antonia shook her head adamantly. “Since I don’t believe there is any complicity on his part, I have no intention of postponing our nuptials. We have deferred more than a year, as is. My father was eager for me to wed Lord Heward, and I intend to honor his wishes without further delay. Now, pray be kind enough to spare me any more displays of your appalling manners, Mr. Deverill, and mind your own affairs.”

  Deverill felt his jaw clench at her icy dismissal, but with great effort, he bit his tongue. There was no point in antagonizing Antonia even more. He would simply have to find another way to persuade her to break off her betrothal to Heward. From now on, he would seek out opportunities to show her how insufferably boring and dull the very proper baron would prove to a woman of her spirited nature.

  In any event, the opportunity for further intimate
conversation was thwarted when they encountered her waiting groom, for Antonia brought her mount alongside the servant’s and remained close as they rode toward the park gates.

  “You needn’t escort me home,” she told Deverill once they had left the premises.

  “But I must,” he replied evenly. “It is impolite for a gentleman to abandon a lady before their outing is properly ended.”

  Now he professed to be a gentleman? Antonia thought, torn between vexation and exasperation.

  She maintained a stiff silence all the way back to her house, much of that time reproving herself for losing her composure. She had resolved to treat Deverill with cool aplomb, but she hadn’t accounted for his deliberate provocations or his uncanny talent for getting under her skin.

  Or her own deplorable inability to resist him.

  It was shameful, how strongly she was drawn to him. The boldness in his glance, his tantalizing smile, combined with his blatant sexual magnetism managed to scatter her wits and weaken her limbs, while his provocative challenges only brought out the reckless, daring side of her nature, the one she usually strove to keep hidden.

  She was glad when at last they reached Maitland House and halted in the drive. Ignoring her groom, however, Deverill swung down from his horse and came around to her side. Antonia tensed, realizing he intended to help her dismount.

  “Are you afraid of me, princess?” he asked when she hesitated, his tone amused.

  It was another obvious challenge, yet she couldn’t stop herself from taking the bait. Her chin rose. “Hardly. I simply don’t trust that your manners have undergone any miraculous transformation in the past ten minutes.”

  “I can be civilized when the need suits me,” Deverill drawled. “Now, come here.”

  Still wary, she reached out to place her hands on his broad shoulders. Catching her waist in his hands then, he lifted her down.

  She had been right to distrust him, Antonia realized as he set her on her feet. For the span of several heartbeats, he stood holding her much too close for comfort. Their bodies brushed in the barest contact, but the effect was searing.