Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle

by Bronwyn Scott

  It was a trick Dimitri had told him about when he’d seen him that last time in prison before the execution. It seemed ironic that he was ostensibly facing the same end as Dimitri and just days after Dimitri’s son and daughter had arrived.

  For the first part of the journey, he allowed himself to think about Philippa and the promising start of the morning. He stored up images of her, of Roseland, of Lilya and Constantine, and all the things he loved. Night would assuredly come and sleep would not. He did not dare let it, for fear of the nightmare, for fear of giving Lucien some evidence that could be twisted into incriminating proof. He needed the peace of those memories to see him through the night. He’d spent many lonely nights practising that same technique in the Balkans.

  They stopped briefly for a stretch around tea time, then headed on, making the most of the daylight. For the second part of the trip, Valerian thought about Lucien’s game, keeping his mind active by trying to match wits with Canton. It was clear to him that while Canton wouldn’t mind seeing him tried as a traitor, it was unlikely that anything would come of it beyond an initial hearing. Canton probably wanted to use the opportunity for something else.

  It occurred to Valerian that Canton would have ample time alone with him to carry out any dastardly plans. Canton would have plenty of chances to kill him on this trip alone. Cuffed and confined, Valerian was at the man’s mercy. What he didn’t know was how much of a coward Canton was. Did Canton have the temperament to kill a man outright? Or was he the sort who favoured ‘accidents’, preferably those that were ordered by him, but carried out by others?

  Accidental occurrences had certainly played a lucky part in Lucien’s life in recent years. The accidental appearance of Mandeville Danforth at Lucien’s home in Truro led directly to a seat on the bank’s board of directors. An accident at Cambourne’s mines had offered him a direct connection to the Cambourne inheritance and a chance to use Philippa’s friendship for his nefarious schemes.

  That gave him pause. He’d seen all the angles Canton had decided to play so far. But he’d not looked past the present. How involved was Canton’s scheme? Had it incorporated the planning of Cambourne’s death? Was this plot so detailed that he’d been willing to invest three years in setting it up? To wait until Philippa was out of mourning and able to legitimately remarry? The potential depth expanded the parameters of the situation. This was no longer an opportunity to exploit a plum that had fallen into Canton’s lap on happenstance. It was much more defined than that. If his suppositions were correct, then Canton had known all along what he was doing. It explained why Canton would be willing to go to such lengths to remove him from the equation. He’d unknowingly put the entire scheme at risk and Philippa too.

  He hoped Philippa was holding up. She’d looked devastated after her discussion with Lucien and she’d been pale after the fisticuffs. But she was tenacious and he had no doubt that she was planning some way to assist him. He rather hoped he’d find a way to resolve his situation before Philippa could leap into action. He didn’t want her endangered and Lucien was a more perilous foe than she realised.

  He fingered his cloak, taking comfort in the fact that someone had had the foresight to slip a few things into his cloak, probably Lilya. She would have been the only one able to do it. Beldon and Philippa had been on the terrace with him.

  If he wasn’t mistaken from the feel of things, there was a small knife, some money and a tiny vial. He could imagine Lilya racing to his room and seeing the vial on the bedside table. She’d probably grabbed it in hopes that if it was medicine he needed, he’d have it. If he lived long enough to see the inside of Newgate, the money would come in handy. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use the knife. But he thanked Lilya silently for her efforts.

  Dusk was falling when they stopped for the night at a wayside inn. An hour ago, they’d driven through a larger village. But Valerian could see now why Lucien had chosen to stop here. It was less likely to be frequented by travellers, less opportunity to call attention to their party. Such a choice supported Valerian’s thoughts that Canton had other plans than a trial for treason in mind.

  ‘My hands, please,’ Valerian said as the coach rocked to a stop. He held them up to be unlocked.

  The man riding with him shook his head. ‘Sorry, I’ve got orders not to under any circumstances.’

  ‘Very well. My cloak about my shoulders, then, if you don’t mind,’ Valerian ordered. ‘The clasp is in front. Fasten it well, I don’t want it sliding off in the dirt.’

  Uncomfortably, the man did as Valerian asked, grumbling about being treated like a ‘bleeding valet’. Valerian took some petty pleasure from the man’s complaints. Perhaps the man would tell Canton he didn’t sign on to be a ‘bleeding valet’ and get permission to remove his cuffs. It wasn’t as if Valerian wanted to engineer a prison break, or in this case a coach break. Running away only enhanced the look of guilt. He simply wanted to stay alive long enough to reach London and put Lucien’s case to rest.

  The inn was rough, but empty of guests with the exception of a few locals. Lucien sneered at him as he clumsily took a seat at one of the benches. One of the men was allowed to remove his cuffs for eating. Dinner came shortly afterwards, greasy fare of lamb stew and overcooked carrots. But Valerian had eaten worse. Lucien apparently hadn’t and pushed his plate away in disgust. He eyed Valerian malevolently over the plank table. ‘Probably wise of you to eat what you can now. Can’t say as how there’ll be much food or opportunity to eat where you’re going.’

  Valerian met his gaze evenly and said nothing. He had no intention of saying a word to Canton. Lucien looked away, his attention drawn to the door and the newcomer. Lucien’s eyes went hard.

  ‘Pendennys, what a surprise to see you here,’ Lucien drawled coldly.

  ‘Ah, yes, who would have thought, out of all the inns to choose from, we’d have the same taste?’ Beldon returned in a jovial tone, sounding as if he’d just walked into the finest gentlemen’s club on St James’s. ‘St Just, I trust you’re well?’ Beldon came over to the bench and sat beside him.

  Valerian stifled a laugh. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m journeying to London on business, much the same as you, I am guessing,’ Beldon said offhandedly. ‘Is the ale here any good?’

  Lucien stalked outside in anger, barking an order to keep a close eye on the prisoner.

  ‘We’re going nowhere,’ Beldon said cheerily, lifting his tankard in a salute. ‘At ease, gentlemen, I am simply here to keep an old friend company. There’s no crime about that in your law books, is there? Here…’ Beldon slapped down two coins on the table ‘…innkeeper, ale for everyone and keep it coming. These boys have had a long day.’

  Valerian shot Beldon a quick look. He was up to something. Surely he realised ‘rescue’ or ‘escape’ was out of the question? Beldon merely smiled.

  After the first round, the men had gathered around the table where they sat. After the second, they were comparing battle scars from the morning’s fisticuffs, more like comrades instead of enemies who had been on opposite sides of the fray. When the third round arrived, Beldon asked congenially, ‘So, how much does it pay to take a facer from a viscount these days?’

  ‘Enough,’ one of the men replied. ‘Double what we’d earn in a week on half-pay.’

  ‘I’m not sure the wages are enough, considering the beating we took from you and the viscount today.’ A man called Johnny gingerly touched his black eye, courtesy of Beldon’s fist.

  Beldon nodded in empathy. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘You and the viscount don’t fight like sissified dandies,’ Johnny put in.

  ‘We’re old friends,’ Beldon said, throwing an arm around Valerian. ‘We go way back. We’ve been in more than one scrape.’

  For the next half-hour, Valerian sat back and watched Beldon charm the group of rough soldiers He saw his friend’s ploy. Beldon too realised that escape was moot. But there were benefits to having one’s capt
ors on one’s side. Valerian wouldn’t be surprised if he’d be allowed to remain uncuffed during the ride tomorrow or if Beldon would be allowed to sit with him in the carriage. Little pleasures meant a lot in these situations. And perhaps, too, Beldon was trying to establish an ally to use once they got to London, someone who would prove to be sympathetic to their cause.

  Eventually it was time to bed down. Lucien had arranged for a private room upstairs for himself. The others were expected to bed down in the common room on pallets, Valerian included. Men were appointed to stand watch in shifts in case Valerian tried anything foolish.

  It was an immense relief to have Beldon with him. ‘You sleep first,’ Beldon said quietly, gesturing to a pallet. ‘I’ll stand watch for us.’

  Valerian nodded. Beldon implicitly understood his concern that Canton would not be beyond murdering someone in his sleep.

  ‘How is Philippa?’ Valerian asked in low tones.

  ‘She is well.’ Beldon looked around him at the room of men. ‘Tomorrow in the carriage, I’ll tell you more. Not now. I have a letter from her.’

  A man shouted over at them to stop talking. Beldon raised his hand in acknowledgement. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’ But both of them knew the ale had paid off. They shouldn’t have been allowed to exchange even those few sentences. The shout had been for good form alone to keep up appearances.

  Valerian lay down with his cloak about him, his hand closing over the handle of the small knife. The setting reminded him of many evenings spent in uncertain circumstances in the Balkans—the only difference was that he’d been alone then. Valerian glanced over at Beldon, who was already deep in a chess game with the soldier appointed to the first watch. It had been more than he’d expected to see Beldon come through the inn door. Beldon’s presence was a good sign, too, that Philippa had not been revolted by the charges laid at his feet. For the first time since Canton had dragged him from Roseland, Valerian felt the foreboding recede.

  Philippa could not quell the sense of foreboding that infiltrated her thoughts. The carriage ride to Truro had been interminable, although Lilya had done her best to keep up a stream of conversation in the hope of taking her mind off the circumstances.

  Philippa only followed the stream of chatter in snatches, her mind fully riveted on Valerian. Was he safe? Had Beldon reached him in time? She worried for her brother too. Perhaps it had been a fool’s madness to throw her brother after Canton. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to Beldon.

  But Beldon was adept in the art of protecting himself. She’d seen him box and handle a sword on occasion. It was quite telling to think of Lucien as someone who was capable of harming another. But Beldon had gone after Valerian because he agreed with her that Lucien wanted Valerian dead. Beldon’s presence might act as a shield, at least until they got to London. She desperately hoped by then she’d have something else to act as a shield, some proof of Lucien’s unethical behaviour. But it would be difficult. Valerian had technically committed treason. Technically, Lucien had done nothing wrong. How did one prove nefarious motives?

  Philippa grappled with the conundrum throughout the afternoon until the carriage finally rocked to a halt in front of a respectable inn in Truro. It was too late to do anything tonight, but in the morning she and Lilya would pay a visit to Lucien’s Truro manor. She hoped she could gain entrance based on the servants’ familiarity with her, but if not she was prepared to use force and intimidation.

  In the morning, she dressed in her best day gown. Lilya dressed as her maid. They went straight to the manor. The butler recognised her immediately.

  ‘Your Grace, milord isn’t home,’ the butler said, flustered by her sudden arrival. ‘Surely you knew of his plans?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here,’ Philippa said, quickly moving into the story she and Lilya had concocted. ‘Mr Canton has forgotten some items he needs. He asked me to come back for them. It’s quite desperate. He fears his new contracts can’t be signed without them.’ Philippa wrung her hands for good measure.

  ‘Do you know where he left them?’

  ‘He thought they were in his office or maybe in his bedchamber,’ Philippa said.

  ‘I’ll help you look,’ the butler offered.

  Philippa declined the offer, gesturing to Lilya. ‘I brought my maid, so as not to bother you. I know you have responsibilities.’ She swept into the hall and began making her way up the stairs to the room Lucien used as his office before the butler could muster up any other concerns.

  ‘What are we looking for?’ Lilya whispered once she’d closed the office door behind them.

  ‘Anything incriminating. I don’t know beyond that. There might not be anything here at all,’ Philippa said. It had been something of a victory to get into his house. They would have to be quick. She had no idea how long it would be before the servants began to suspect something was wrong. How much time they had would depend on how much Lucien had told the staff about their estrangement. She hoped Lucien had remained true to his arrogant character and not lowered himself to share their relationship with the staff.

  Their luck held in terms of discovery. No one bothered them beyond an occasional inquiry. But luck was against them in unearthing anything of merit that might indicate Lucien was capable of such deceitful conniving.

  ‘We’d better try somewhere else. I don’t think anything is here,’ Philippa said when they’d exhausted the office.

  ‘I’ll check his bedroom,’ Lilya offered.

  ‘I’ll check the library.’

  In the library, Philippa gazed at the walls of bookshelves. She’d never be able to check each of those books in a reasonable amount of time. Even if she had time, it would take more than a day to check them. She supposed it would not be beyond the realm of possibility that a book was hollowed out or that the cover masked the book’s true contents. But she didn’t have time to make that check. She also thought it would draw undue suspicion from the staff if they found her looking through books.

  Philippa checked the small desk that sat in the corner, but it was virtually empty. Flummoxed, she sank down on the sofa. It was hard to believe a few months ago she’d received a marriage proposal in this very room from someone she had believed to be her friend. She remembered the incident quite clearly. The room had felt awkward, as if she were being watched.

  She stood up and started to pace in front of the fireplace. Given all that had happened in the past months, she was starting to feel that it was not unbelievable that she had been watched. Perhaps there was a hidden panel somewhere.

  Philippa shot a furtive glance at the doorway, then back at the fireplace. The portrait above the fireplace had given her a strange feeling the night Lucien had proposed. Perhaps there was a switch in the fireplace that led to a secret room.

  She didn’t have to feel for long before her hand felt a knob in a place no fireplace typically had one. Philippa held her breath and pressed. A panel slid open. Elation coursed through her. She’d found a secret room! She cautioned herself. A secret room didn’t mean anything was in it. Lots of houses had such rooms left over from the Civil War, and further back in time.

  Philippa stooped and stepped inside. The room was far larger than she’d anticipated. A table and chair sat against one wall with a few books stacked on the table. A rug was on the floor. A small spiral stairway led to a little alcove big enough for a person to stand in. Philippa grimaced. She’d bet there were peepholes through the queer portrait.

  She went to the desk and picked up one of the books. Her hand stopped. There were crumbs on the desk. This room had been used recently. Hurriedly, she sat down at the desk and opened the drawers. They weren’t locked. She supposed there was no need to lock drawers when they were in secret rooms.

  Her heart raced a bit faster. Her letter to Lucien, rejecting his proposal, was there in the top drawer. It was proof Lucien used this room. But not any proof that would do Valerian good.

  In the last drawer, she found a set of three
diaries dating from the last three years. Philippa leafed through the first one, noting the date. The diary had been begun a few months before Cambourne’s death. In fact, the diary seemed focused on his relationship with Cambourne to the exclusion of all else. No other events were recorded, no mention of any of the mundane issues that usually made up diaries.

  Philippa flipped faster through the pages. She stared in horror at an entry one month before Cambourne’s death.

  I believe I have the duke’s trust and his wife’s too, after two months in their social circle. It is time to set the scheme in motion.

  Philippa stifled a gasp at the entry written on the day Cambourne had been injured. It had been no accident that the Duke had been caught in the shaft. The accident had been planned. Lucien had deliberately seen to John’s murder.

  Philippa steadied herself and forced herself to glance through the other two diaries. They were even worse. In them, Lucien outlined his plan and subsequent progress in currying her friendship. At the sight of one entry, Philippa felt physically ill.

  After a year or so of marriage, a horrible death will claim my dear beloved, leaving me a wealthy widower and next of kin when it comes to dividing up her estate.

  Shock threatened to claim her. Her hands shook as she stared at the pages. Lucien had fooled her entirely. Never once had it occurred to her that Lucien was contemplating premeditated murder. She’d never suspected he’d been connected to the mine incident or Cambourne’s death in anyway. She had nearly married a murderer.

  She had to get out of the house. There was no telling how much the servants knew. Philippa forced herself to stand and gather up the books and carefully re-enter the library. Her legs trembled beneath her skirts. She gathered her strength. She had to look normal! She went back to the study and stuffed some paper in a random folder to create a decoy. If anyone asked if she’d found anything, she could show them the folder. Lilya was coming down the stairs, shaking her head in disappointment.