Robin maintained a stony, silence for the rest of the outing. When the carriage rolled up to Lynkellyn House, he debarked with the aid of a footman and hobbled into the house without a backward glance.
Following the thump-clump of Robin's footsteps, Lucia passed Laddock without pausing to give him her cloak. She burst into the library as the duke sank into the chair behind his desk and opened a ledger.
"Don't think you are going to hide behind your estate business, Robin! You've been spoiling for war ever since we left the park and I want to know why! Have I done something to anger you?"
"No more than usual! I am merely your husband, n'est-ce pas? I can hardly expect you to refrain from encouraging every Tulip or blood who leers at you, can I? And, naturellement, if it amuses you, why should I cavil at an assignation between you and the most notorious, most hardened rakehell in Town?" Robin's voice grew louder with every word.
"Peter is not 'hardened'! And it is not an assignation! We will be going to the shops and to a circulating library Valeria recommended to me. All perfectly respectable! And Anne will be with me. My time with Peter tomorrow will be open and above board, not the slightest bit clandestine or mysterious."
"So, because you are not meeting him in secret, I am to smile benignly while that damned lecherous puppy drives you all over London!"
Lucia rolled her eyes. "Friendship is all that exists between Peter and me! In my opinion, it's Concordia the man wants."
Robin picked up his quill, running the feathered end through his fingers. "Did it never occur to you, my sweet, that I might have had some plans for us tomorrow?"
"What plans?"
"C'est rien!" He waved her away, unwilling to elaborate upon this sudden bit of fiction. "You shall go driving with your viscount. I shall find someone else..." he gestured vaguely, "...to accompany me."
"Someone else?" Lucia's mind flew back to the night he had not come home.
"Bellefield...and a couple of his acquaintances." Robin shrugged. Infidelity was a game easily played by two. If Lucia insisted upon keeping company with Norworth against his expressed wishes, he would find some 'company' of his own. After all, he was still searching for that talented Cyprian whose charms could blast Lucia out of his heart.
***
Giovanni stood on Robin's left side and Dr. Lindley on his right. Each held an arm as he slowly, painfully crossed the now gleaming ballroom. When the trio reached the far wall, the doctor and the fencing master helped Robin to turn around. "I shall walk back to the other side without assistance," he announced.
"I do not think you are ready for that, Your Grace," Lindley said.
"I hardly feel the pain when you and Giovanni support me, doctor. I have been putting most of my weight on my injured leg for days now. I will walk alone today. If you are unduly concerned, you may march beside me, in case I fall."
Lindley sighed. "Very well! It will be your own fault if you are hurt."
"And my own triumph if I succeed. Let us begin."
The two men trailed Robin through the ballroom as he laboriously crossed it, grunting and grimacing with every step. When he reached his objective, he smiled in spite of his pain. "Again!" he cried, gingerly turning around while clutching the back of a chair.
"Don't you think you should rest a little, Your Grace?" Lindley suggested. "It won't do to overtax yourself."
"Again!" Robin took an uncertain step. The others fell in behind him.
He was halfway across the room when Laddock announced Lord Bellefield. Tony sauntered in, watching with admiration as Robin reached the far wall and turned to pace the area once more. When he had finished his snail's trek for the third time, he reluctantly sank into a chair, admitting fatigue. Bidding Giovanni and Lindley farewell for the day, he exacted a promise that they would return the next morning for another practice session.
"Bravo, old man!" Tony applauded as they left. "Pluck to the backbone! Just like the old days!"
"Not entirely!" Robin grinned. "In the old days, I'd have overcome this injury long ago. I'm getting too old for these adventures!" Amberley picked up his coat, struggling to don it as Bellefield hastened to his aid. "Let's go out tonight, Tony!" Robin said. "I am bored with ledgers and with household upheaval and with..." he hesitated for a moment.
"And with connubial bliss?"
"Mon Dieu, yes!" Robin groaned, tying back his hair and reaching for his cane "I've dressed Lucia as befits a duchess, but beneath all the trappings, she is still a drab little governess. I'm bored with her. I want gaiety and laughter. Perhaps you could suggest...something?"
Bellefield stared hard at his friend. Only a few months ago, Robin had claimed that his wife was all he could handle. Less than a fortnight ago, at Lady Blayne's ball, he had spent the entire evening glowering at every man in Lucia's vicinity. He had hardly been bored then!
Tony concluded that something else must have occurred -- a lovers' tiff, perhaps. With a worldly shrug, he said, "I have rented a box at Vauxhall tonight. I'll be entertaining a little charmer named Mariette. Perhaps she can bring a friend."
***
Over the course of the next week, Robin completely threw off his cane, dragging a not unwilling Tony into some of the lowest gaming dens and bordellos in London.. Their nights always seemed to follow the same pattern. In the evening, they escorted several ladybirds to some public place like Vauxhall's, then, in the early morning hours, after Robin had had a great deal to drink, they visited the wilder hells and brothels, favoring, in particular, Angel's with its' salacious whores, deep play, and mixed clientele.
Robin insisted upon parading his strumpets around the haunts of Society every night as if he were issuing a defiant challenge to the world. The worst moment, Tony thought with a vague sense of guilt, was when he and Robin, each with a Cyprian on his arm, had almost come face to face with her grace at Vauxhall.
Lucia, the Malkents, Viscount Norworth and Miss Lannington were part of a crowd gathered to watch the fireworks display. If the two parties had actually met, no one would have had to look up to see an explosion.
Tony had endeavored to steer his group in another direction, but Robin had proven uncooperative. "I don't give a damn if she sees us, Tony!" he said, watching the viscount hurriedly escorted Lucia in the opposite direction. "Ah, Norworth's with her, naturellement!"
"That was close!" Bellefield muttered, mopping his brow with a linen handkerchief. "Hate that sort of contre-temps! Perhaps we should go elsewhere, old fellow."
"I'll take my pleasures where I choose," Robin scowled, his words slurred by a surfeit of claret. He smiled down at the simpering little blonde on his arm. "Come, ma petite, there must be champagne hiding somewhere in this wretched establishment!"
They strolled away, but Tony and his redhead did not follow. Arrested by the anguish in Lucia's eyes when she saw the duke, Tony watched unhappily as Norworth led her to a quiet corner. Shielding her from vulgar curiosity behind his broad back, Peter held her hand and wiped tears from her eyes with a wispy lace handkerchief.
Robin returned to Tony's side in time to see Lucia lay her head on Norworth's shoulder. As Peter stroked her hair and kissed her forehead, Robin glared at the spectacle of his wife locked in a public embrace with another man. His mouth tightened and his eyes danced with fury. "Are you coming, Bellefield?" he snapped.
"Lord, yes!" Tony led his lady away, shaking his head as he followed Lynkellyn through the crowds...
"More than a tiff," Tony muttered, still shaking his head as that night's memory faded. "More than a tiff!"
***
Bellefield was not the only person haunted by that upsetting evening. Remembering Lucia's drawn face and wracking sobs, Peter's fists clenched with a violent desire to knock some sense into that half-witted husband of hers.
He could recall every word of their unhappy conversation, could even feel her trembling hand in his as he asked, "You saw him, didn't you?"
She nodded, looking up at him, and the anguish in her eye
s tore at his heart. His strongest impulse at that moment was to call Amberley to account and carve out his black heart.
"I suppose you've heard about his...er...recent escapades?"
"Yes! Lady Laddon called yesterday, only too eager to enlighten me! It is all my fault, Peter! If I hadn't... If I could only..." Her tears flowed, sudden, fast, and furious.
"Have you spoken to him lately? There must be some explanation for his wild behavior!"
"I haven't seen him since the day we talked to you in the park," she sobbed, "but I know why he is acting this way. It is my f-fault!"
Unaccustomed to receiving the intimate confidences of young brides, Peter dabbed at her streaming eyes, uncertain of his role as she poured out the most tangled and unlikely conglomeration of marital problems he had ever heard. The most nightmarish part of it all was that he, innocent for once, appeared to be an integral ingredient in the Amberleys' witch's brew of misery. Powerless to help her, he comforted her as best he could, cradling her in his arms and kissing her forehead as she wept against his shoulder.
Chapter 22:
In Which Her Grace Becomes a Thief
"Damn your luck, Rochey! That's another hundred I owe you!" Scowling, Giles threw down his cards.
Sir Winston Rochedale gathered his coins and shuffled the cards in the evening's candlelight. "No doubt your luck will change in the next hand, dear boy!"
Giles snorted. "Have you been asleep these last three months? My luck ran out the day Amberley returned to England!"
"Nonsense, my lord! A trifling setback! You'll come about soon enough and His Grace will be left in a sorry state when you do."
Giles drummed his fingers on the card table and glowered. "There has to be a way to best him!"
"Let's see, dear boy. You've tried vilification, bribery, and murder, the latter more than once. All unsuccessful!" Sir Winston pocketed his winnings and poured himself another claret.
Giles lapsed into thoughtful silence. "I could abduct the Rogue's doxy," he said suddenly.
Rochedale grimaced. "It's been done, dear boy."
"I could take her to Heathe Manor and arrange a...a 'tragic accident'. Fatally shot by poachers in the woods. What a pity! Terrible aim, poachers! Shoot at anything that moves! I was in London at the time. You could corroborate that, Rochey! Had no idea Her Grace intended to visit the manor. Yes, that will do nicely! And I'll enjoy killing the little bitch, too, after all the trouble she's caused me! I'll do it slowly...and with finesse."
Sir Winston shook his head. "It won't work! Too many circumstances would tie the incident to you. Her Grace's body is found on your estate; you have an excellent motive for killing her; and what possible reason would she have to visit you? She's made it abundantly clear that she's loyal to Amberley and despises you. No, it would be obvious that you murdered her."
Giles stared glumly into his wine. "So you think the magistrates would take me up?"
"Instanter, dear boy, and even if they did not, Amberley would not rest until he had your head on a platter if he believed you had killed his duchess. Begging your pardon, dear fellow, but you ain't up to His Grace's weight in the art of duello."
"How the devil do you know? I've not yet had a chance to cross swords with him!"
"I've heard a great deal..." Sir Winston muttered, his memories vivid of Golden Gus in the midst of battle, his lightning blade flashing crimson and silver as it darted into opponent after opponent.
"You've heard...!" Giles snorted. "I skewered that sanctimonious hothead for his impudence once and I can do t again!"
"Sanctimonious! Not a word I'd have chosen to describe the duke!"
"You did not have to grow up with him! Always carping on honor and fair play whenever I was up for a lark! Thank God Grandpapa never tumbled to the truth or I'd have spent my entire childhood 'neath the rod with nothing to eat, save bread and water. But since I was the old fool's favorite -- son of his precious only daughter, do you see -- he always accepted my word over Amberley's. I made quite a game of seeing how much mischief I could lay at Robin's door. His backside must be turned to leather, considering all the tannings he took on my behalf."
Sir Winston splashed more claret into his glass. "That letter you mentioned when you told me about Lady Malkent's abduction -- you actually sent it to Amberley?"
"Yes."
"Superb bit of folly, that!" Sir Winston said. "Never put anything into writing, dear boy."
"I've learned a great deal since I was twenty, Rochey! What has the letter to say to anything?"
"Ever see it again?" Rochedale's brows arched.
"No."
"If Lynkellyn had wanted to clear himself quickly, he only needed to produce that letter. It would have been the perfect evidence to damn you. Why didn't he use it?"
Mountheathe's eyes met his in dawning wonder. "Yes, by Jove! Why didn't he? I hadn't thought of it in all these years, but that letter would have cleared him immediately!" Giles began to pace. "It never even occurred to me to search for it. Indeed, I had forgotten the letter's very existence until after the Rogue was long gone." He turned to stare at his guest and candlelight played on an angry red slash across his cheek.
"He didn't use the letter, dear boy, because he didn't have it," Sir Winston drawled. "He lost it, perhaps, or... But I'll wager he doesn't have it now, either. He'd have published it, else."
"So how does that help us?" Plopping into his chair, Giles ran his hands over his forehead, wincing as his fingers brushed a second scarlet slash across the bridge of his nose. "Damn that bitch of a governess!" he muttered.
"Well..." Sir Winston grinned slyly, "you do realize that the duchess is in love with her husband?"
"God, yes! Any fool with eyes in his head can see that! It's the reason the doxy couldn't be bought. Curse the Rogue's luck!"
"It is her greatest strength, but I think we could turn it into a weakness. Because she loves him, she will go to great lengths and take foolish risks to clear him. Suppose I tell her I have the letter that incriminates you and I'm willing to sell it?"
"And?"
"And I'll name some remote and lonely place where we can make the exchange. When she comes to get the letter, we'll kill her."
"Suppose she doesn't come? Perhaps the Rogue won't let her go or she won't be able to raise the blunt."
"She won't. His Grace keeps her penniless and on a short leash. However, I'm betting she'll find a way to meet us, nonetheless, with the idea that she can persuade us to give her the letter, gratis."
"What about Robin? Won't he be suspicious?"
"Perhaps, but the talk is that he's not at home much these days. Too busy laying wagers and chasing whores. She can't tell him if she don't see him, dear boy."
Giles pondered the idea. "It sounds like a workable plan, but...well, she'd never trust either of us."
"True, but she'll believe me if I say I stole the letter from you. It's exactly what she'd expect of me. She'll want to see it, of course. That's when we arrange our secret meeting at that remote and lonely spot and..." He drew his finger across his throat with a satisfied grin.
Mountheathe sat up and dealt the cards. "If she finds me waiting for her at your 'remote and lonely spot', she's likely to bolt!"
"Leave it all to me, dear boy. I know the Duchess of Lynkellyn. Her kindness has always been her downfall. She'll come to save her husband, only to damn him with her death."
Giles's hand paused in the midst of flipping a card to Sir Winston. "You'd do that? You'd actually...kill...for me?"
"For a small monetary consideration, of course." Rochedale's snaky eyes met Mountheathe's over the cards.
"How small?" Giles's mouth tightened as he resumed the deal.
"Say...five thousand guineas?" Rochedale gathered his cards, pursing his lips at a queen as he placed her beside her sister in his hand.
"Five thou -- ! You'd beggar me!"
"You'll have a hundred thousand a year when it's done. Not a bad return for your investment,
is it?" Sir Winston grinned.
"No, I suppose not, but..."
"You do want your legacy, don't you? And imagine the Rogue's rage when you best him! Lord! I'd give a monkey to see his face!"
"Oh..., very well," Giles grumbled, " I shall give you a draft on my bank before you leave. Half now and the rest when it's done. But don't dally! I want this business finished!"
Rochedale sipped his wine. "I'd much prefer the brass to a possibly worthless scrap of paper,"
"Look at my face, man!" Giles brought up a candle to illuminate the swollen weals that crisscrossed his countenance. "If I step outside my door or receive any callers other than you, everyone will know I attacked the duchess! I'm hardly in a position to go to my bank or to receive my bankers here and I don't keep that kind of blunt in the house. What's more, I wouldn't trust my servants to carry such an amount from the bank!"
"I suppose you are right," Sir Winston sighed. "Very well. I'll take the draft, but I'll be cashing it tomorrow."
Fuming over his unanticipated incarceration, Giles slammed his cards face down on the table, rising to pace his drawing room again. "Hell and damnation! I'm virtually a prisoner in my own house, thanks to that prune-faced old gargoyle of Saddewythe's. Any sensible woman would have had hysterics upon seeing a marauding brigand, but not her! Oh, no! She was a demon with that whip, let me tell you!"
"Calm down, dear boy!" Rochedale said. "Once you've healed a little, you can resort to your paint box. Hide the weals beneath a fashionably pale complexion and no one will suspect a thing!"
"My God, I hope you're right, Rochey! I don't relish the thought of incarceration, whether it be in Newgate or in Heathe House."
***
When Laddock presented the innocuous white calling card to Lucia on a silver tray, Sir Winston Rochedale's name leaped up at her like a rabid, snarling dog. She flicked a nervous tongue over dry lips. "In the Blue Salon, you say? He asked for me?"
"He did request an audience with His Grace, but..." Laddock's voice trailed away.
The Rogue's Revenge Page 31
