She faced her aunt and shook her head before retrieving her brush and pulling it through her hair. “Heavens, no. He does not deem me sensible enough to discuss such things with. Believe me, I have tried several times to find out what is happening only to be met with derision. No, Father is trying to force me to marry a man I do not love. Actually”―she set the brush down and slipped her feet into her shoes―“I rather detest the man.” She quirked her finger at her aunt. “Come, let us walk before my tardiness makes matters worse for me.”
Her aunt fell into step beside her. “We can chat as we walk. It is not fit that whilst good luck is knocking at our door, we should shut it.”
“Who said that?”
“Thomas Shelton,” Hillie answered with a sly smile.
Audrey nodded. No one who was simpleminded could recall proverbs word for word and tell you who said them. “I think you’re rather smart, Aunt Hillie.”
Her aunt smiled. “I’ve always thought so too, dear, but it’s nice of you to say so.”
As they descended the marble stairs and entered the portrait gallery, they paused in unison in front of her mother’s portrait. Staring at her mother, she noticed what she always did, that even though there was a well-placed smile on her rosy lips sadness filled her green eyes and made them tilt unnaturally downward. Of course, the painter had not known her mother did not always look that way. Audrey sighed. “It was not well done of Mother to die before she could tell me whatever a lady is to do when her well-thought-out plan goes awry.”
Her aunt clicked her tongue. “Taking her life was not well done either, but we cannot complain to her now. Bless her. I hope she’s happier now.”
Tears stung the backs of Audrey’s eyes as she whispered, “I hope so too.”
“Dearest.” Her aunt turned to her. “What was your plan for your life? Does it involve a gentleman other than the one your father wants you to marry?”
Audrey swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “It did. I wanted to marry for love like you and Uncle Albert did, and not have an arranged marriage of loveless quiet desperation like Mother and Father’s.” A shudder passed through her at the idea of such a marriage. “I’d rather be dead than stuck in a loveless marriage.”
“Tsk. It’s a good thing death is not your only option. What happened to your plan and your gentleman who I assume you love?”
“I tried to make him jealous and I think it may have backfired. Aunt, considering the desperate position you now find yourself in, would you change the fact that you went against your parent’s wishes and married for love?”
Aunt Hillie shook her head. “Never. From what I’ve observed of those I know, marriages of convenience hardly ever turn out to be convenient.”
“Do you―” Audrey hesitated, thinking of her own predicament. “Do you regret anything about running away from home to marry the man you loved?”
Her aunt cupped Audrey’s face much like her mother used to. Audrey gulped back emotion. Aunt Hillie smiled sadly and ran her fingers across Audrey’s cheek before letting her hand drop away. “I regret that ten years went by that I did not get to see your mother, because of Father forbidding it. When she grew old enough, married and left Father, I hurried to see her again.”
Audrey nodded. “Mother talked several times of how sad those years without you were. She also hated that you did not live nearer to us.”
Aunt Hillie dabbed at her moist eyes. “Tell me of this gentleman you tried to make jealous.”
“His name is Lord Davenport. He is kind. Smart. Handsome. Mysterious.”
“Ah!” Aunt Hillie quirked an eyebrow. “Did your father not approve of him?”
Audrey laughed, despite the tension rolling through her stomach. “Oh, no. Father would wholeheartedly approve of Lord Davenport, if Lord Davenport had ever asked to court me. But he hasn’t, and that’s the problem. Father is not inclined to wait, as I am. Or was. Or rather―” Audrey furrowed her brow. “I would be inclined to wait if I thought Lord Davenport wanted me to. But last night he was rather cold, which makes me think he may not wish to court me at all. And now I’m sure father is calling me to his study to demand I accept Mr. Shelton’s proposal tonight. Father wants me to marry immediately. He’s quite tired of having me here.” Saying the truth out loud hurt more than she thought it would.
“Ah, I see,” Aunt Hillie said slowly. “So are you going to submit to your father’s wishes?”
“Never.”
“Excellent, my dear. I think you must make certain Lord Davenport does not care for you and them we can decide what must be done from there.”
Audrey fingered the locket her mother had left her. “Sage advice, but how do I go about finding out how he feels?”
Her aunt smiled. “Why, ask him, of course. Make a time you can speak with him privately, and until then you must pretend you are submitting to your father’s wishes. We shall worry about what happens next, when next it happens.”
She kissed her Aunt Hillie’s cheek. “Do you want to walk the rest of the way with me?”
“No, dear. I think I’ll stay here and visit with your mother.”
With emotion clogging her throat, Audrey nodded. She squared her shoulders and marched toward her father’s study. It wouldn’t do to face Father with fear. Once at his door, she rapped on the dark wood. “Father, may I come in?”
“Yes.”
She slipped inside and took her usual chair across from him. “You wanted to see me?”
“Tonight is the Lionhursts’ ball.”
She stared at the top of her father’s balding head, since he had not deemed her worthy enough to look up and stop what he was doing. “Yes, I remember.” Her steady voice pleased her.”
“You will accept Mr. Shelton tonight.”
She sent a silent thanks above. Father had not stated exactly what she was to accept, so she was not exactly lying by agreeing. He could mean she would accept a dance. Her conscience niggled, but she ignored it. “Certainly, Father.”
Finally he looked up, his eyes cold as ever. “It’s good to see you’ve come to your senses.” He waved at the door. “You may go. I’ve work to do.”
For once, his utter lack of real interest in her was a blessing. Not bothering with a goodbye, she dashed out of the door and almost crashed into her brother, Richard.
Audrey eyed him with a frown. He appeared to have the same clothes on he’d worn last night, yet his gray eyes looked blurry, as if he’d just awoken or perhaps never slept. His brown hair was a tousled mess. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt, though he did smell like a bottle of Father’s whiskey he was so fond of partaking in nightly. And overly much. “Richard, whatever are you doing up so early and why are you lurking in the hallway?”
He leaned close to her and her nose wrinkled involuntarily. The acrid smell of smoke joined the lingering scent of liquor. “Have you been smoking and drinking?”
He gave her a lopsided grin that tugged her heart with the memory of how sweet Richard had been before Mother died. Mother seemed to have taken the best of Richard with her to the afterlife. Richard tousled her hair. “I just got in.” He pressed a finger to his lips, then removed it and pressed it to hers. “Don’t tell Father.”
Swatting his hand away, she started to nod and then stopped, narrowing her eyes. “What have you been doing out all night?”
He winked. “This and that.” A sudden frown puckered his brow. “I only wish I had done it better.”
“You are making no sense, Richard.”
He reached up and pulled a lock of her hair, as he used to do when they were children. “I know. Say, did Father tell you the plan?”
She felt her brows come together. “No.” Unless of course Richard meant Father’s plan to force her to marry Mr. Shelton. Surely, Richard was not supporting Father’s idea. Her stomach dropped. That would be the ultimate betrayal. “Richard―”
“Richard!” her father roared from within his study, cutting off Audrey’s question
to her brother. “Get in here now.”
Richard patted her on the arm. “Go draw or some such ladylike thing,” he said with a wink. “It’s my turn to be lectured.”
Richard disappeared into the study, leaving her staring at the now closed door for a moment. Had Richard been talking about Mr. Shelton when he referred to a plan? She toyed with the idea of eavesdropping, but she didn’t want to chance being caught. As she walked toward the portrait gallery she thought about what her aunt had said and made a decision. If she was going to ask Trent how he felt about her it would have to be tonight and it would have to be at the ball.
To ensure he would come and meet her somewhere they could talk privately, she had to act quickly to get a note to him. Once at the portrait gallery she did not see her aunt. Pressed for time, Audrey made her way to her room instead of searching out her aunt. She hurried to her escritoire, sat and retrieved a sheet of foolscap. She toyed with her quill pen for a moment before writing,
Dear Trent, will you please meet me at seven sharp at your sister’s party tonight? Meet me in the terrace on the far side near the garden path. I need your help with an urgent problem.
That should do the trick. Trent was a man of honor. He would not fail to show if he thought she needed his help. She sealed the note and rushed downstairs to have the coachman take it for her. With any luck when she asked Trent how he felt about her tonight he would profess his devotion. If not, her life would be changing dramatically, but she would endure somehow.
When Trent wanted to avoid thinking about his past, or his future, he came to Gritton’s Boxing Arena on Drury Lane. At Gritton’s, a man didn’t don the gloves one wore at Gentleman Jackson’s to protect oneself from being pummeled to a bloody mess. If a man stepped foot into Gritton’s ring it was bare-knuckled and he better concentrate on nothing but the fight at hand, move fast and strike first.
The strain of being with Audrey last night and treating her as a mere acquaintance had left him feeling as if a lead ball sat in the pit of his stomach. All he wanted to do at this moment was forget himself. He stepped into the arena to warm up for his match and wait for his partner, whoever Gritton might have paired him with. It did not really matter, as long as the man hit hard. He started dancing around the ring and jabbing his fist in the air. Within minutes, blood surged through his veins and left a dull roar in his ears. Perfect.
“Davenport!”
Dinnisfree’s familiar voice cut through the daze Trent was attempting to reach. He whipped around and stopped jabbing. A smile, though his friend could very well be bringing the worst news of Trent’s life, tugged at his face. It was not Dinnisfree’s fault Gwyneth might be alive, and he was glad to see Dinnisfree, no matter the circumstances. “Home exactly when I suspected you would be,” he said, eyeing the duke’s morning suit. Unusual for him, he looked every inch a gentleman of the ton with his face freshly shaven and his red hair neatly combed. Curiosity struck him to know what Dinnisfree’s latest mission had been.
The duke strode up to the ring favoring his right side and stuck his hand through the ropes to grasp Trent’s extended hand. “I can tell by that fierce scowl on your face that you are trying to forget something. It would not be Lady Audrey, would it?”
Trent shot Dinnisfree a warning look, and ignoring the duke’s question, asked his own. “How did you hurt your leg?”
Dinnisfree shot a wary glance around the ring. “Dodging.”
Trent nodded, knowing his friend had left the bullet part unsaid.
“I assume my message sent you into a tailspin, judging by your pleasant nature this morning.”
Trent gritted his teeth. “Your message changed some plans I’d made, but it’s nothing I cannot live with.” Because he would have to.
Dinnisfree shrugged. “If you say so. I’m not one to question what another man can live with.”
Trent leaned over the ropes closer to the duke to ensure privacy, though realistically no one was near enough to hear them. Old habits died hard.
“I gather you were on business in France.” They both knew business was code word for a mission for Prinny.
“Not the sort of business you would think. This was more of a personal trip for Hawkins.”
Trent mulled over what sort of personal situation Prinny, known as Hawkins in code, would have that would require Dinnisfree to go to France. “A woman?”
Dinnisfree nodded, his face blank.
Trent grunted. “Care to explain how your personal business for Hawkins led you to an area where you thought you might have seen Gwyneth?”
“Hawkins was inquiring after an interest whom he believed now resides in Paris.”
Trent raised an eyebrow. “And does she?”
“She does, but she wishes to have nothing more to do with Hawkins. Anyway, whilst I was there, I found myself in a theater near where Gwyneth once lived. Imagine my shock when I thought I saw her at the theater. The woman had her height, build, coloring and by God, she had her face. I could not simply ignore it. I thought you would want to know.”
Trent swallowed, feeling like he’d been handed a death sentence, and associating the possibility of his wife’s possibly being alive to a death sentence for himself made his gut twist with shame.
Dinnisfree cleared his throat. “I can see by the vein pulsing at your temple and the way you are twisting your mouth that you are mentally damning yourself for wishing she were still dead. Or maybe you were hoping I’m possibly wrong and it’s not her because you have developed an attachment to Lady Audrey.”
Trent tensed.
“Listen, man, if you have developed a tender for Lady Audrey―”
“Are you ready to box?” Trent interrupted. He didn’t want to talk about Audrey or Gwyneth or anything at the moment. He wanted to hit and be hit. Forget himself and his life.
Dinnisfree pressed his lips together and nodded. “Give me a minute to change.”
Trent occupied himself with warming up until his friend returned and they commenced sparring. At first, the fight was exactly what he needed, and he was able to narrow his thoughts to nothing but the task before him. It was such a relief that he managed to let his guard down. He must have, because one minute he was considering his following move and the next he was remembering Audrey in her blue gown. He blinked and a fist was flying at him. Trent dodged the punch coming toward his face a second too slow.
Dinnisfree flashed a triumphant smile as his fist connected with Trent’s jaw. The blow sent him flying onto his back with a thud that made his teeth rattle. His head hit the hard floor, and for a moment, his ears rang in time with the flashing specks of silvery light dancing across his vision. He blinked several times and then lay there panting with his eyes closed.
After one solid hour of boxing and being knocked down four times in a row, his jaw bloody well ached and his lower lip pulsed with every crimson drop that dripped from the previously received cut. Trent rolled onto his side, spit out a mouthful of blood and slowly opened his eyes. How had things grown tangled so fast? A shadow loomed beside him. He didn’t move. He knew well enough his friend stood above him, likely smirking. Trent had spent enough days and nights in France holed up on assignment for Prinny with Dinnisfree that not even blindness would stop him from recognizing his friend’s rattling inhalation of breath. It had a certain short, short, long pattern and occurred whenever his friend was bone weary.
With a grunt, Trent pushed himself to an upright position and grasped the outstretched hand in his face. “Come on.” Amusement laced Dinnisfree’s tone before his face pinched up to display his discomfort. “If you care to talk now, I’ll endeavor to listen.” The duke’s voice sounded strained, like the mere act of what he’d just offered made him ill.
Trent staggered to his feet, and without saying a word he brushed past his friend and lumbered under the rope of the ring. As he was passing the entrance into Gritton’s, the door opened and his footman strode inside.
Trent came to halt in front of Harris.
“What the devil are you doing here? Is something amiss?”
Harris held out a cream missive. “I’m not sure, my lord. Mr. Pickering ordered me to bring this here to you at once. He said to tell you specifically the lady’s coachman told Mr. Pickering the matter was urgent and you needed to get this right away.”
Frowning, Trent took the letter. Dinnisfree drew near and peered over his shoulder. “Is it from your mother or cousins?”
Trent turned the letter over to rip it open and froze. At the top in perfect curvy writing was Audrey’s name. Jesus. Something had to be wrong. He ripped it open and gaped. Flicking his glance to Harris, he said, “You may leave.”
His footman nodded and went out the way he had come in. Dinnisfree raised a questioning eyebrow at Trent. “Who is it from?”
Trent motioned to the wooden bench in the far corner of the room. The two of them walked silently over and sat down, well away from the other men at Gritton’s. “It’s from Lady Audrey. She says there is an urgent matter and she must see me tonight at my cousin’s ball.”
Dinnisfree cocked his head. “And will you?”
Will I? He gripped the paper in his hand and thought. The smack of fist against flesh rang out like a drum accompanied by a rough underlying tune of butchered English and interesting curse words. He should not meet her, but he would. The compulsion to ride directly to her house, learn what urgent matter her note referred to, and fix everything for her was almost irresistible. Except he couldn’t ride there and he knew it. Bitterness filled his mouth with a sour taste.
“I should not meet her in light of the new turn of events in my life, but I will. This one last time to ensure she is okay and to explain to her somehow that our relationship must be more distant.”
“What words will you use to explain that?” Light humor laced Dinnisfree’s tone.
Trent shook his head and glanced down at his battered red hands. “I don’t know. But I will have to find the right words. I cannot pursue her when my wife may very well still be alive.”
Dancing With A Devil Page 11
