Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “Is it truly fair, though?” Will said, finding his voice. “Two suitors can only both be considered when both show up at a lady’s door. If I give her ‘distance,’ as you suggest, how is she not to take that as rejection and fall into your arms?”

  “Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say,” Richelieu said.

  “They also say, ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’”

  Richelieu took a deep breath. “Give me the chance. If I’m not the right man for her, even by becoming, how you say, within sight, then she will send me home.”

  Will swallowed hard. Lord, wisdom. I need Your wisdom….

  “Consider it, William,” Richelieu said, rising. He reached out a hand, offering it to Will. “Isn’t it fair? To wager that the right man will win her heart?”

  He couldn’t risk it. Declaring himself to her father. Not yet. Not without bringing them both down. They just needed more time. More time…

  Will stood up, even though his knees trembled beneath him. And then he reached out to shake the nobleman’s hand, feeling vaguely like Judas.

  Cora

  I hovered in the ladies’ salon for as long as I could, powdering and repowdering my nose. But I finally reentered the grand baroque hall that contained what had to be two hundred men and women dressed in Victorian finery, many of whom were taking instruction on a unique waltz that allowed for the wide hoop skirts the women all wore. I could feel the lingering glances of men as I passed but ignored them, not wishing to invite any of them to approach.

  I searched the hall for a familiar face, eager to avoid my dreadful father, wishing I could dance with Will—who seemed distant today—but giving in to the fact that it would probably be Pierre with whom I danced this night. I spied Lillian on the arm of an attentive, rather wolfish-looking blond man and watched as they turned. He bent to say something in her ear, and she giggled and flashed a smile at him even as she blushed prettily.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Was I merely feeling protective over my little sister? Or was it intuition—a godly warning that this might be one of our attackers?

  “My, you look lovely tonight, Cora,” Art said, nodding to me as he and Hugh approached.

  “Indeed,” Hugh said, looking me over from head to toe.

  I shook my head at him. “I was about to say you two looked like fine Victorian gentlemen, but perhaps that’s only an apt description of one of you.”

  “Come now. A man cannot be blamed for his masculine appetites,” Hugh said, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Go. Find someone with whom to dance before you say something we both regret,” I said. He was incorrigible, but I was beginning to recognize his act. His role, as if it were a mere script. Did everyone in this crowd have a role to play? Was anyone allowed to be as they were, created by God, following His lead? I looked to Vivian dancing with Andrew and thought of her onetime love for a servant’s son. Andrew, dutifully seeing to his intended but simmering beneath the surface. Felix drifted by, a beautiful woman in his arms, and I suddenly could see him ten years hence, still dancing, still moving, still resisting our father’s desire for him to make something of himself—but even his role as a playboy seemed just that…a role. I glimpsed Will for a moment. He was leaving the hall. I thought of his desire to be an architect, his desire to be with me…neither of which seemed entirely possible.

  Even we girls now played our parts as bait. I again found Lillian and her dance partner, drifting toward me as the music played on. What was it about him that troubled me? It was good for her to enjoy a man’s attention for once. She looked lovely and was of age to accept suitors. Perhaps that was it…I simply saw her as my little sister, just discovered, not a woman grown. But this man was looking at her as if she were ripe for the plucking. Just as Art had looked at her, these past weeks.

  I eased a bit when I saw Antonio, arms crossed, not ten steps away, intently watching them both. His expression made me smile—he was as filled with consternation and wariness as any doting father. I made myself take a breath—as best I could, anyway, given the tight corset I wore.

  “Ahh, there you are, mon amie,” Pierre said, smoothly coming to my side. “I was beginning to think you’d disappeared into the hedge labyrinth outside.” He gave me a quick kiss on the hand and a devilish smile. He knew well enough that it would remind me of our chase in his hedges in Paris and our kiss in the gazebo….

  I forced myself to smile back at him rather than cower in a puddle of embarrassment and blushes. I allowed my eyes to wander, searching the doorway for Will, waiting for him to reenter. But he did not return, or I’d missed his entry and he was lost in the crowd. Perhaps he had taken a position out of my line of vision. Pierre confidently offered his arm. “Would you care to dance, Cora?”

  I looked again to Lillian twirling in a circle around the blond man, her color high. Oh yes, she is taken with this one. It’d be good to draw near and find out more about him. “I’d be delighted,” I said to Pierre. He immediately gave me a tiny bow and then led me to the dance floor directly beside Lillian and her partner just as the dance ended.

  “I do not believe we’ve yet been acquainted,” Pierre said to the man, reaching out a hand.

  “No, I believe you’re right,” said the man, pushing back a shock of blond hair in a rakish move that reminded me of Hugh. He reached out to shake Pierre’s hand. “Nathan Hawke, esquire, of New York.”

  “Pierre de Richelieu,” he answered with a half smile, “of Paris.”

  Mr. Hawke glanced down toward me, and his smile faltered. His hand went to his heart. “Forgive me. You gave me quite a start, miss. Have we met before? You look terribly familiar.”

  Lillian took my arm and smiled up at him, clearly wanting to get back into his line of vision. Did she think I might try to steal him from her? “This is my sister, Miss Cora Diehl Kensington.”

  “Miss Kensington,” he said, recovering his manners. He bowed and took my gloved hand, giving it a quick kiss. “A pleasure to meet you. I was born in Helena, so your sister and I have been reminiscing. Apparently, we share an affinity for the mountains of our onetime shared home.” He smiled down at Lillian, giving her a quick wink.

  “Helena?” My heart leaped at the mention of a city in my home state, instantly making me feel more at ease with him, and yet I bristled at his brazen wink. “What a small world.” Perhaps that was why I appeared familiar to him. Maybe we’d even passed each other on the boardwalk in town. “What has brought you to Vienna?”

  But the conductor had begun the prelude to the next song, and everyone hurriedly lined up for the dance. Nathan studied me and then leaned forward to whisper, “We must speak of it and more,” as if it were a secret and I was the only one privy to know. I bristled at his assumed intimacy.

  Pierre and I settled into a familiar two-step, and I tried to relax. I was being silly. Nathan Hawke was not a kidnapper. Our kidnappers favored the shadows and surprise, not an overt introduction. And he was from America. I was in one of the finest halls of one of the finest cities, on the arm of one of the world’s finest men, in a gown I could have only dreamed of as a girl.

  But as we passed Lillian and Mr. Hawke, I saw his eyes trailing after me. Not as a potential suitor, but with the look of a troubled friend. I lost them in the crowd as we turned, and then my vision began to tunnel, even as the song came to an end.

  “Cora?” Pierre asked, strengthening his hold on me. “Where are you?” He gave me a wry look that held the faintest edge of anger. “Certainly not with me.”

  “Forgive me,” I said. “I confess there is so much in my head, that I feel a bit dizzy.”

  The anger dissolved, and he turned me away from the floor, wrapping a strong arm around my waist—a move explicitly reserved for dancing. But I was grateful for it, as my knees felt like jelly. “Are you ill? Would you like a chair?”

  “No, no,” I assured him. “Please. Just a cup of punch? It’s no doubt the costume keeping me from a full breath.”
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  “Ahh,” he said, giving me a quick appraisal, shaking his head as he glanced at the beautiful dress. “Come with me.”

  His tone brooked no argument, so I meekly followed him and took one of several empty chairs he gestured to, feeling very much like the girls of old who would fall onto fainting couches and be awakened with smelling salts. “I will return in a moment,” he said but his tone said, Stay here. His protective manner both warmed me and made me bristle. I brought a hand to my head. What was the matter with me? Did I not want a man to watch over and care for me?

  “Are you quite all right?” Nathan Hawke stood before me. “You look terribly peaked.”

  “I am feeling a bit faint. Pierre set off to fetch me a cup of punch. I’m sure once I catch my breath I’ll be fine.”

  “You need a bit of air in the garden,” he said.

  My head jerked up, offended by his demanding tone, so out of place.

  “Make your excuses,” he said lowly as Pierre appeared, ten paces behind him. “Come away to the garden for a bit. The arches in the far corner. There is something you must know. Now.”

  I frowned even as he tipped back his head and laughed, as if I’d said something hilarious. Then, with a small bow, he moved away to meet up with Lillian again and offer her a cup of punch.

  “Cora? What did he say?” Pierre asked, frowning at my expression and then looking after him.

  “He said he wanted to meet me alone in the garden. He said he has something I must know.”

  Pierre’s frown deepened with rage. “The scoundrel! I’ll tell you who will meet him there. Moi.”

  “No,” I said, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. I smiled and laughed lightly. “Besides, who are you to take umbrage at his request? Did you not meet me alone in a garden once?”

  “You were not being courted by anyone else as I recall,” he said, relaxing just a bit at the memory. “I knew I had to make a move before anyone else spotted the budding rose.” His kind eyes washed over my face, and I knew then the honesty of his love. It took my breath away, and I hurriedly took a sip of the tart, blood-orange punch. Pierre turned to find Nathan Hawke bowing before Lillian and then departing, leaving her looking more than a bit dashed.

  “Pierre, what if he is connected to the kidnappers? Might this be our chance to flush them out? I could go and meet him as he requested. With you and Antonio in the shadows. If he makes any untoward moves—for any reason—you two would be right there.”

  His brow lowered. “If you intend to expose yourself, there will be more than two of us in the shadows. I will not allow you to come to any harm. And if this Hawke has companions who await him…”

  I shivered, remembering the iron-strong arms of the men who’d accompanied my kidnapper in Nîmes, and hurriedly agreed. “But you must remain hidden until we know his intentions.”

  “Are you certain?” he said, his eyes now rife with worry. “I do not like it. Placing you in the center of potential danger.”

  “It is a chance to be free of these men, once and for all, yes? And what harm can truly come to me if you and three others are on all four sides of me? Go. Alert the others. When you give the signal I will go to him. At the first sign of trouble, come to my aid.” I squeezed his arm. “I will be fine.”

  He leaned close enough that I felt the heat of his whisper on my ear. “I will not let you out of my sight. Give me five minutes to get the others in position.” And then he was gone, leaving me to wonder if I truly had the strength to do what I’d offered.

  But if there was one thing I had in common with Wallace Kensington, it was this—I wanted the men who threatened us gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  William

  Irritated, Will eyed Richelieu as he approached. Had he not removed himself from the dance hall? Was he still too near to Cora for the man’s comfort?

  Richelieu gestured to a corner where they could speak in private, and regretfully, Will could think of no reason not to hear him out. “What is it?” he asked as soon as they were alone.

  “It’s Cora. She’s been approached by an American named Nathan Hawke. He insisted she meet him in the garden. He says he has something he must show her. She is intent on doing as he asked in order to see if this might be a ruse of the kidnappers.”

  Will’s eyes narrowed even as his heartbeat doubled. “You left her? Alone?”

  Richelieu met his gaze with a stern look of his own. “Only so that I might find assistance in forming a guard in the shadows. Given that you feel as I do toward her, I thought it prudent you be among them.”

  Will lifted his chin in admiration. The man cared for her enough to bring in the man who would care for her more than any other, even though it meant he’d be closer to her than he liked. His grudging admiration grew. He loves her. He truly loves her.

  “Let’s go,” he grunted. “I want Antonio and Yves in on this too.”

  They entered the dance hall and quickly found their men. Will knew that there were others in disguise around them. He prayed they’d be keeping as close an eye on their clients as their fee dictated they would. He worried that this could be a ruse to draw their attention elsewhere, so that the kidnappers could take Lillian or Nell. He paused beside Claude and bade him to promise to keep an even closer eye on those two. Vivian was still accompanied by Andrew, and well aware of the threat, so he fretted less over her.

  He saw Cora slip through the French doors that opened upon a wide marble veranda and out to the gardens. On the far side was a curved garden portico, with two rows of covered arches extending from a tall fountain like welcoming arms gesturing inward. She began making her way there. “I’ll go to the far side,” he said to the men. “Antonio, you go to the left, Yves to the right. It makes sense that you, Pierre, would be among the gardens, catching some fresh air.”

  The men nodded in agreement and edged apart, filtering into the crowd as if intent on reentering the party, and through it entering the dark gardens from separate directions. Will wished he carried a pistol as the others did, rather than the dress cane. But he knew if he had the opportunity to grab hold of any man who dared to try to take Cora, his fists would be the only weapon he needed.

  He saw her reach the fountain just as he edged past the end. Flames danced in gas lamps at every arch, casting a warm, romantic glow and deep shadows throughout. Was the man simply after a romantic tryst? He smiled grimly. Even that would come to an unhappy end if the man attempted it. Will hopped over a four-foot-high hedge and then crouched over, looking around. Confident he was alone, he moved back toward the arches from the other side, stealing close enough to hear the click of Cora’s heels on the stone floor of the garden patio.

  He spied her through a hole in the hedge, and for the first time all night, he allowed himself the luxury of gazing upon her in the splendor of her Victorian finery. The dusty-rose color made her skin appear creamy, her blue eyes brighter. Tendrils of hair from her curling knot atop her head had escaped and teased the edges of her long neck. She paced back and forth a bit and then seemed to make herself still, half hidden in the shadows. She looked so comely, so inviting, he had to force himself to stay where he was and not go to her himself. Oh, to be a welcome suitor of Cora Diehl Kensington…

  Her head came up, and then he heard what she had—footsteps as someone approached. She greeted a fair-haired man he assumed was Nathan Hawke. Will tensed. But the man paused a pace away from Cora and looked about, as if as nervous as she.

  “Forgive the intrigue,” he said. “It’s only that I knew you would want to know of this as soon as possible. And in private.” He reached inside his jacket and drew out a folded magazine from a pocket and handed it to Cora. What was this? A ruse to distract her? Will’s hands clenched.

  “My sister, who just arrived this morning from New York, brought it with her.”

  Cora, casting him a confused look, turned to lift the magazine toward the lamp. “Life? What has this to do with me?”

  The fellow b
it his lip and then gestured to it. “You’ll see. I’ll leave you to find out. I’m sorry, Miss Kensington. You seem like a nice woman.”

  She frowned and watched him depart even as Will’s frown deepened. He warily looked around, wishing he could see better in the dark. Were the others approaching?

  Cora took a step toward the light and paged through the magazine, then abruptly stilled. He heard her gasp. And then Richelieu’s shout as she fainted.

  Cora

  I came to in Pierre’s arms, recognizing with some alarm that we were still in the garden. In a moment, I remembered what had stolen my breath. The magazine…

  “Please,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “Let me see it.”

  “Come inside, Cora,” Will said, handing the magazine to me. “Where we can peruse it in private.”

  By his grim tone and expression, I guessed he’d seen the spread on the inside too. “Postcards from the Grand Tour,” the headline screamed. And beneath it, photo after photo of me and my companions—some in seemingly compromising situations. Quotes from us, out of context. He offered his arm, and Pierre offered his, too. I took both, still feeling woozy and short of breath, my vision tunneling in and out. They shielded me from the gathering crowd of concerned partygoers, telling them that I needed to rest as we made our way inside and up to our quarters in the mansion.

  My father glimpsed us and rushed over. “What happened?”

  “Bad news, I’m afraid,” Will said through gritted teeth. “Might you attend us upstairs, sir?”

  “Certainly.”

  I swallowed my complaint, suddenly feeling nauseous, and he and Mr. Morgan fell in behind us. Andrew and Vivian, too. We left the girls and Hugh and Felix to dance. There was time enough for them to learn of this latest development.

  “Ring for Anna,” Will grunted to Pierre. Pierre moved to the lever by my door and pulled as Will helped me to a chair. “She needs to get out of this infernal dress. She can’t breathe,” Will hurriedly added, blushing at the implications of his statement.