Nicole Jordan

by Wicked Fantasy

  He had met Antonia, that was what had happened.

  “Keep your tongue between your teeth, you old bleater,” Deverill ordered, unamused.

  “Very well,” Macky said, chuckling. “But I pray that your affliction isn’t catching. First Caro, then Thorne, and now you.” He shook his head as he rose to his feet. “I intend to remain a bachelor for a long time to come. There are too many pretty fish in the sea to swim with only one. I commend you on your taste, however . . . beauty, brains, charm, and wealth. If I had to marry, I could only hope to do half so well as Miss Maitland.”

  Deverill cast a darkling glance at his colleague. Biting back a smile, Macky raised his hands in submission and exited the room.

  Sinking deeper into the sofa, Deverill took another long swallow of brandy. Antonia possessed all those qualities Macky had named and more . . . but they had little to do with why he had succumbed to her.

  It was because Antonia had made him feel. She had pried and prodded and provoked him at the most primal level, stirring the darkest emotions he had tried to keep buried . . . and the brightest as well. Feelings of desire and yearning and passion. Of tenderness and warmth and affection. Of love.

  He’d fought against loving her. Fiercely ignored the unspoken need she kindled in him. But she had burrowed into his heart against his will. Now he could only wonder what kind of fool he’d been to deceive himself so badly. Just two days ago he had resolved to wed Antonia, not for her sake as he’d tried to convince himself, but for his own. Because he didn’t want to live without her.

  He was still a bloody fool, though, to think he deserved happiness with her, Deverill thought, a fist knotting in his chest. He stared down into his brandy, wondering bleakly if he dared permit himself to imagine a future with her.

  But regardless, there was no way in hell he would relinquish Antonia to another man. She would marry him and no one else.

  Antonia belonged to him. And if he managed to defeat Heward, he would pursue her with every breath in his body.

  Deverill took one last swallow of brandy, feeling the burn down to his stomach. A future with Antonia was one worth fighting for.

  The difficulty was, if he couldn’t vanquish Heward, he might hang for murder, and then he would have no future at all, with or without her.

  Antonia gazed across the crowded ballroom at Lord Heward and wondered how she could ever have been eager for a future with him. Now merely sharing the same room with him made her shudder.

  He was not in costume, as were most of the other ball guests. Instead, he wore a plain black satin domino over his evening clothes. The half mask covering the upper part of his face didn’t fully conceal his dark scowl as he surveyed the crowd, doubtless in search of her.

  Antonia felt her jaw clench in apprehension when Heward glanced her way. As yet, however, he hadn’t recognized her in her shepherdess attire. Her costume had been specially commissioned for its dual advantages: The voluminous powdered wig covered her distinctive, fiery hair, while the hooked staff she carried to guide her imaginary flock of lambs gave her nominal protection if necessary.

  She also had the protection of Deverill’s friends this evening. Currently Antonia was flanked by Lord and Lady Thorne on one side, and Alex Ryder garbed as a highwayman on the other. The roguish Macky was also hovering nearby, disguised as a footman.

  Thus far, the initial details of their plan had gone as expected. She had spent the night of her arrival at the Cavendish Square mansion of Viscount Thorne and his beautiful wife, Diana, who was also an amazingly talented artist. Antonia had liked Diana immensely and was grateful to have her support and feminine perspective in this bastion of male Guardians.

  The next morning, Antonia had returned to her own home, where her first action was to greet and reassure her relieved housekeeper, Mrs. Peeke.

  Her second step was to send an announcement to the society pages of the evening papers, so Heward would be certain to hear of her presence in London. Her third was to pay a call on her dearest friend, Emily, Lady Sudbury.

  From the pouting reception she received, Antonia could see Emily was still hurt and angry at her for leaving London so precipitously, even though she had written every week of her absence, offering breezy, mostly true accounts of her sojourn in Cornwall.

  But eventually over tea and scones, Emily grudgingly allowed Antonia back into her good graces. At least until the subject of Baron Heward arose.

  “Heward was fit to be tied, Antonia, when you disappeared without a word. He came to me several times, demanding to know where you had gone, but I had not the slightest idea. It was a shabby way to treat your betrothed, I must say.”

  “Heward is no longer my betrothed, Emily,” Antonia confided.

  The young countess looked shocked. “Whyever not?”

  She grimaced. “It is a long story.”

  “Antonia . . . what are you not telling me? Why are you being so secretive, after all we have been through together?”

  Her friend was clearly hurt again, and Antonia hastened to reassure her. “I am not at liberty to share the details just now, but I swear I will tell you everything when it is all over.”

  Emily’s forehead creased with suspicion. “Does this have anything to do with that criminal, Trey Deverill? He is wanted as a murderer, you know.”

  “Deverill is not a criminal,” she replied rather too sharply. “Certainly not a murderer.”

  Emily’s eyes widened, then lit up. “I knew it! He did have something to do with your disappearance.”

  “I really can’t say.”

  The smile that wreathed Emily’s lips held delight. “Do you mean to suggest you had a true adventure, like you always dreamed of having?”

  Despite her best intentions, Antonia felt herself flush. She had tried ardently not to think of the glorious passion she had shared with Deverill for the past month, or her growing certainty that their eventual parting would be excruciating. Those were subjects she couldn’t confide even to her closest friend. Yet she had to offer some sort of explanation, or Emily would hound her unmercifully.

  “It was a better adventure than I ever dreamed of,” Antonia said merely. “But I cannot speak of it. And you mustn’t breathe a word to anyone, and I mean anyone, Emily. Especially not Heward. It could have disastrous consequences if you do.”

  “My lips are sealed, cross my heart forever.” Emily made the sign they had always shared as bosom friends when they were two lonely girls at boarding school. Then she smiled mysteriously. “I have a secret myself.”

  “What is it?”

  “I am not telling you after your beastly behavior.”

  Antonia merely waited, knowing her friend could never hold a grudge for long.

  Giving a huff, Emily relented. “Oh, very well. I am increasing!”

  Instinctively Antonia glanced down at Emily’s stomach, noticing that it was indeed the slightest bit rounded under her empire-waist gown. She knew a moment of envy for her dear friend’s happiness, but then rose abruptly to give her a fierce hug. “Emily, I am utterly delighted for you!”

  “I am, also. And Sudbury is quite beside himself, he wants an heir so badly. I pray it is a boy. His mama will likely never let me live it down otherwise. But I am so very glad you are back to keep me company, Antonia. I have been a bit sickly in the mornings, you see. . . .”

  Giving an inner sigh of relief at averting a crisis, Antonia listened attentively to a rambling account of the joys and pains of early pregnancy. When she finally took her leave to return home in her carriage, it was in the company of her new armed guards—four strapping footmen that Thorne had added to her household staff for her protection.

  She was glad for their presence later that evening and again this morning when Lord Heward called at her house and attempted to gain an audience with her. He was refused admittance on both occasions, but the second time, on her instructions, her butler had informed his lordship that Miss Maitland would be attending the Legmore masquerade ball
this evening if he wished to speak with her.

  Heward undoubtedly was seething with impatience now as he scanned the ballroom for her. Just when his gaze swept over her shepherdess costume, he froze, seeming to recognize her.

  Antonia gave an inward shudder, relieved she needn’t be alone with him tonight—and not solely because she feared Heward, but because she feared she might lose control of her own fierce emotions.

  Rage welled up in her as she locked gazes with him through their demi-masks. Heward likely had murdered her father to protect his claim to her fortune. And just as horribly, he had ordered an innocent woman killed and then pinned the blame on Deverill to eliminate his interference.

  Yet they still had to prove it, Antonia grimly reminded herself. And she had a crucial role to play tonight if she wanted Deverill to go free of the charges of murder and to see Heward pay for his crimes.

  She couldn’t fail. She wouldn’t fail, she vowed as the baron pushed his way through the crowd toward her.

  Her fury must have shown on the lower half of her face, however, for Thorne murmured a cautionary word, and Diana pressed her fingers encouragingly. Then Macky had the audacity to wink at her as he passed by.

  That wink particularly helped Antonia to contain her black mood and gave her the added courage to confront the dastardly villain who was approaching her.

  She took a steadying breath and pasted a cool smile of welcome on her face as Heward reached her. “Lord Heward, how pleased I am to see you,” she remarked congenially.

  It was with great restraint that she exchanged pleasantries and then introduced his lordship to her new friends, Lord and Lady Thorne and Mr. Ryder. She politely refused Heward’s request to speak to her in private and suggested instead that he invite her to waltz, for she was determined to remain in public view for their interview.

  Additionally, she refused to relinquish her shepherd’s crook, even though clutching it proved awkward when they took their positions on the ballroom floor. She tried not to flinch when Heward grasped her hand, but even his gloved touch made her skin crawl. Fortunately the dance soon started.

  “I have missed you, my dear,” Heward said, guiding her expertly around the room.

  “Have you?” Antonia murmured.

  “Yes. I regretted your sudden disappearance. I feared perhaps you were angry with me, but I had no notion what I might have done to earn your displeasure.”

  She gave him an ironic smile. “None at all? Come now, Heward, I credited you with greater acumen.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone a little too sharp.

  “If I was angry with you, it was because it came to my attention that you were employing my father’s ships to illegally transport slaves.”

  Heward was silent a long moment, obviously debating whether to try and deny his involvement.

  Antonia’s smile turned dangerous. “Even worse, you betrayed my trust, using your position as adviser to line your own pockets. It is a blessing my father didn’t know, or he would have been enraged. Just think how that would have affected a man with his heart condition.”

  Heward stared at her for half a dozen lilting bars of the waltz. Refusing, however, to acknowledge her deliberate hint that he had caused her father’s heart failure, he tried placating her instead, offering her a new, rueful expression edged with dismay.

  “You are mistaken, my dear. I have no knowledge of any illegalities. If any such distasteful actions occurred, then Trant was fully responsible.”

  It took all her willpower not to scratch Heward’s eyes out and reply calmly. “Pray, don’t insult my intelligence, my lord. I know all about how you blackmailed Director Trant and forced him to do your bidding. As a result, you have forfeited any influence over my father’s company. In truth,” Antonia declared with sugary sweetness, “I want nothing more to do with you.”

  His mouth turned grim. “You are breaking our betrothal?”

  “I fear I must, for I cannot marry two different gentlemen. Mr. Trey Deverill has offered for my hand, you see, and I am considering accepting.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Heward said grimly.

  “Whyever not?”

  “Deverill is wanted for murdering a woman of . . . low morals.”

  “Oh, I know all about that,” Antonia replied lightly, determined to goad Heward as much as possible. “And I don’t believe a word of it. Indeed, that preposterous accusation actually swayed me in Deverill’s favor. What better way to convince the ton that I believe in his innocence than to accept his proposal of marriage?”

  The baron fell silent once more, clearly struggling to control his response. Deverill was right, Antonia thought: The surest way to infuriate Heward and arouse his jealousy was to intimate that she might marry his rival. In all likelihood, Heward knew he could never measure up to Deverill in her eyes, even though it was the baron who possessed the illustrious title and vaunted position in society.

  “An admirable sentiment, my dear,” Heward finally said. “You will forgive me, however, if my feelings for you prevent me from offering my felicitations.”

  “Oh, I doubt your feelings for me are wounded in any great measure, although you will certainly lament the loss of my fortune.”

  Heward’s jaw clenched. “Where is this paragon you intend to wed? Did he return to London with you?”

  “In fact, he did. Although naturally, under the circumstances, he cannot make his presence known for fear of arrest. But Phineas Cochrane has agreed to handle Deverill’s defense as a personal favor to me. I am quite grateful, and I have high hopes those spurious charges will soon be dismissed. Phineas’s skills as a barrister are unequaled, you know.”

  At this taunting utterance, Heward’s grip on her hand tightened painfully. He was livid, Antonia knew, and he barely made an effort to disguise it. “Now you disappoint me, my dear. But perhaps your emotional confusion can be attributed to the ordeal of your abduction. That cur has obviously filled your head with lies.”

  “Are they lies, Lord Heward?”

  “Yes. And I know you are fair-minded enough to allow me the chance to prove it to you.”

  “You are welcome to try,” Antonia replied skeptically.

  The waltz came to an end just then. Heward returned her to Lord Thorne’s side and took his leave with exquisite politeness. Yet from the fury she saw gleaming in his gaze through his mask, she knew she had made an implacable enemy and was very glad for the protection of Deverill’s friends.

  Watching Heward stride away, however, Antonia could finally take a deep breath for the first time all evening.

  She had done her part. Now it remained for Deverill to do his.

  Eighteen

  A fine mist turned the summer night cool and settled over Deverill’s cloak as he waited in the shadows before the baron’s Bedford Square mansion. At the sound of carriage wheels, Deverill slipped farther along the wrought-iron fence that fronted the house, concealing himself behind a brick post.

  Eventually, a crested town coach drew to a halt before the mansion. When a flaxen-haired gentleman garbed in a black domino stepped down, Deverill smiled faintly, realizing that Heward had returned early from the masquerade. Antonia must have been successful, he thought with satisfaction.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw two horsemen ride past and recognized their silhouettes in the muted light of the street lamps. Ryder and Macky had followed Heward’s carriage from the masquerade to make certain of his whereabouts at all times.

  Not surprisingly, there was a sharp edge to the baron’s tone when he dismissed his coachman for the evening. As the carriage rumbled off, Heward strode angrily through the gateposts and down the walk toward his front entrance. If he reacted as expected, however, he would be summoning that same carriage again very shortly.

  Moments after the baron bounded up the steps and disappeared inside the house, Deverill was quietly joined by Alex Ryder and Beau Macklin on foot.

  “Did Trant call on Heward as he agre
ed?” Macky asked in barely a whisper.

  “Yes,” Deverill murmured. “He’s awaiting Heward inside now.”

  Director Trant had been so desperate to save himself, he had eagerly assented to all of Deverill’s demands, the most important being to disclose the time and location of an arranged meeting the following evening, so Heward would know when and where to find him.

  “Heward will be spitting nails when he learns I’ve tried to turn Trant against him,” Deverill added softly. “The question is whether his lordship will act tonight or wait until tomorrow to summon his henchmen.”

  “My odds are on tonight,” Ryder speculated. “He can’t risk losing the opportunity to strike at you, and he will want to verify their services as soon as possible.”

  “For your sakes, I hope so,” Deverill replied, “or it will be a long, uncomfortable night for you.”

  “No matter,” Macky whispered with a grin. “We’ll keep the bloody lord in sight.”

  They would watch the baron’s house for as long as necessary, until he came out again. If Heward summoned his town coach as expected, the two Guardians would follow on horseback.

  Their predictions proved accurate. Barely ten minutes later, Director Trant exited the mansion. At the gatepost, he deliberately paused to wipe his face with a white handkerchief—the signal that Heward had responded as anticipated.

  Deverill smiled grimly to himself.

  A quarter hour after that, Heward’s crested carriage rumbled back up the street and halted before the mansion. Ryder and Macky immediately disappeared into the fog to retrieve their horses, while Deverill remained to watch.

  Moments later, Heward came storming out of the house. He barked an order at his coachman before flinging himself inside the equipage. Immediately, the town coach set off at a brisk pace, but Ryder and Macky were close behind.

  Giving a silent salute to Deverill, they rode off down the dark street and were swallowed up by the mist. Other than being cold and wet, the fog was actually a benefit, Deverill reflected, since it would help conceal them as they pursued their quarry.