by Jo Beverley
“Good day to you, Verderan,” he said.
“And to you exactly the sort of day you deserve,” Verderan replied. “Lost your way?”
“Found it, more like,” said Osbaldeston, taking Violet’s arm and leading her forward to where Verderan stood. Dragging her might be more apposite.
Violet was dressed very smartly in her characteristic shade of purple, a high feathered bonnet on her glossy curls. She still looked unmistakably like a whore.
“I’m sorry, Violet,” drawled Verderan. “I thought I’d made it clear that I’m no longer interested in your services. If you need a reference—”
She sucked in her breath. “You scheming Irish bastard,” she hissed. “You’ve stolen my girl. If you want her, you pay for her and you pay double!”
Verderan slid an amused glance to his old enemy. “Oh dear, George. You have been gulled, haven’t you?”
Osbaldeston’s hands clenched. “We just want the girl back, Verderan,” he said.
“I haven’t the slightest idea where she is,” responded Verderan in a bored tone. “I have no interest in her whatsoever.”
“Oh, really?” sneered Violet, her careful accent slipping slightly. “I haven’t forgotten you sweet-talking her—straight out of my bed! She begged a lift out of Melton yesterday with a carter and we’ve tracked her. The last news we have leads her straight here!”
Verderan merely quirked a brow. “Why the heat? If George bought her and she’s skipped, it’s his problem, not yours.” Then he smiled. “Or did you take his note? My dear Violet, I always thought you had a head for business.”
Violet was turning puce. “It’s none of your affair!” she said shrilly. “I was only doing the chit a favor, introducing her to a better class of gentleman. I was only claiming my expenses back and getting her a cut to set her up ...” She trailed off and looked over his shoulder. Her eyes grew round and her color deepened. “You almost had me fooled, you bastard.”
Guessing what he would see, Verderan turned. Kevin Renfrew was coming down the wide staircase, chatting amiably to the lady on his arm—a tiny, stylishly dressed female with an aureole of silver-blonde hair and big blue eyes. “I think you’d better come in after all,” he said with a sigh, and led the way.
Violet surged forward. “Why, you little slummer—”
Verderan gripped her arm. “We will all behave with decorum, I think.” He looked over at the ethereal couple. “Come here.”
Emily spent the morning expecting a summons from her father and fresh recriminations, but nothing occurred. Because of the continuing rain followed by universal wetness she decided to stay at home and attend to domestic tasks and bookkeeping, but unfortunately these left too much time to think.
He had said he wanted to kiss her. No matter if he said later it was a mad impulse, for a moment he had wanted to kiss her.
She really shouldn’t feel so radiant just because a rake wanted to kiss her, especially with his violent tendencies and his peculiar behavior to take into account. His mental instability was very sad but probably incurable.
As Emily was sitting at her desk chewing the end of her pen and staring sightlessly at a ledger, Junia scratched and entered bearing a tea tray.
“Are you very busy, Emily?” she asked. “I thought we could have a little chat. Such dismal weather.”
“I could welcome a break,” said Emily, smiling. But she was wary. It had not escaped her that during dinner the previous night and afterwards, Junia had not once mentioned Piers Verderan or Emily’s flight to her room.
They sat beside the leaping, crackling fire and sipped the tea. “I wondered how you were feeling,” said Junia. “Last night you seemed a little overset.”
I knew it, thought Emily. “Mr. Verderan is a very over-setting person,” she said.
“I find him quite pleasant,” Junia countered. “But then I have age on my side.”
“I am hardly a green girl,” Emily said sharply, remembering her father’s comments.
“You still seem young to me,” replied Junia. “So, what did Piers Verderan say, or do, to overset you, dear?”
Emily took another drink from her cup and thought of all sorts of evasive answers, but then she admitted in a mumble, “He kissed me.”
No shock. No outrage. “Was it pleasant?” Junia asked.
Emily almost choked. “Junia!”
“It seems a perfectly reasonable question to me. If you liked it, that means one thing. If you didn’t, it means another.”
“I liked it,” admitted Emily reluctantly. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that he’s mad and bad. So, what does that mean?”
Junia smiled. “I think it means that you should follow your heart, not what people say.” She picked up the pot and refilled their cups. “I knew his parents, you know, and over the years I’ve followed the family gossip in an idle kind of way. When he turned up here I fired off a few letters and I’ve had replies. He may be bad but he ain’t mad.”
Emily stared at her aunt. “Junia, it’s almost as if you’re trying to push us together. He isn’t . . . he can’t be interested in me in that way. He’s just amusing himself.”
“Time will tell,” said Junia. “And that is for you to work out together. I merely think you should know that he isn’t known to be insane, and it’s possible he is not as wicked as he’s made out to be.”
“But you admitted he was bad,” Emily pointed out.
“Bad is not so bad sometimes,” said Junia cryptically. “Judge him on what you see for yourself, Emily. Not on rumors and old stories.”
There was another scratch at the door, and Mary, the maid, came in. “The vicar’s here to see you, Miss Emily.”
“Oh. Show him into the parlor, please, Mary.” Emily automatically smoothed her gown and checked her appearance in a mirror. “Excuse me, Junia.”
“Of course,” said Junia. “But if he proposes, don’t say yes, dear.”
Emily blushed and protested, “I don’t know where you get the notion that all these gentlemen are desperate to marry me.”
Junia just smiled.
As a result, Emily entered the parlor nervously. It would be in keeping with the disruption of her orderly existence that Hector choose this moment to offer for her. She would have to say no and then perhaps one day when she had come to her senses she would regret it.
He did not, however, look amorous. He was pacing the room with a weighty frown on his face. “Ah, Emily,” he said as he stopped and faced her. “I am on my way to Hume House on a most distasteful mission, but I felt I must stop and warn you.”
What now? thought Emily.
“That Verderan man is living up to his vile reputation,” Hector said angrily. “I will not stand for it in my parish.”
“What has he done?” Emily asked faintly.
“He has abducted a young girl from town to entertain a wild house party he is holding up there.”
“What? Who?”
“I don’t know who. The girl’s guardians are seeking her, and your cousin Felix is assisting them. He told me the whole—a young girl cursed by beauty and susceptible to the wiles of wickedness.”
“But how do you know she is at Hume House?”
“The news is all over the village that Hume House is full of wild young blades and Mrs. Greely is taking on new staff. And one of the ‘guests,’ the gossips tell us, is an un-chaperoned child exactly fitting the description given by those poor people. I passed on the sad news to them and they are on their way there now, though since the child has been absent all night I fear the worst. I must follow to throw the weight of the church behind them and reconcile the misguided girl and her family.” He gathered his hat and gloves.
“Wait!” cried Emily. “I am coming with you.”
“That is out of the question, Emily. That place is clearly no better than the Hellfire Club.”
“The child will be frightened. I may be able to help.”
Hector looked at her. He was no fool.
“You don’t believe me,” he said, and Emily felt her color flare. It was true. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it unless she witnessed it with her own eyes, as Junia had advised.
Hector stiffened. “Margaret hinted that your interest in that man was growing, despite all I told you. Even Felix has heard rumors . . . Very well, Emily. By all means come with me and have your eyes opened once and for all.”
Emily sent a message for Corsair to be brought round, then rushed upstairs and scrambled into her habit. She had no time to think until they were underway, cantering towards Hume House.
It couldn’t be true.
She prayed that it not be true.
8
WHEN VERDERAN addressed them, Renfrew and Titania looked over as if they had only just become aware of the group near the door. In Renfrew’s case it was probably true, but Verderan would go odds Titania had been aware of them every second.
“Mr. Verderan,” she said with a doting sigh and let go of her escort to float down the stairs to his side. She hardly came halfway up his chest, and with her huge eyes she did look very childlike. Her white muslin gown, presumably carefully chosen by Violet, combined fashionable style with charming, youthful innocence—and a very low neckline. She would indeed not have looked out of place at Almack’s.
She glanced wide-eyed at Osbaldeston and Violet. “Are they very angry?” she whispered. The “with us” was silent but implicit.
“You should have a career on the stage, my dear,” he said, and detached her fingers from his sleeve.
“Oh, thank you!” she gasped meltingly. “You are so kind to me.”
Verderan burst out laughing.
“Damn you, Verderan!” snarled Osbaldeston. “You’ll meet me for this!”
Verderan knew his right line in this farce was to grit his teeth and say, “Willingly. Name your seconds.” He simply couldn’t. “For once,” he said, “I’m in sympathy with Jake Mulholland. I’m not going to fight over pudding, not even over such a perfect fairy cake as this.”
By this time Chart, Harry, and Corny had come out to gawk at the group in the hall. Titania instinctively played to her audience and flashed them an admiring, beseeching smile. They all colored and preened.
Osbaldeston assumed an air of sangfroid and looked over the four young men. “Perhaps we’ve had you wrong all these years, Verderan,” he sneered. “Perhaps you ain’t in the petticoat line at all. Heard you were very tender with your boys at Eton.”
Harry colored up and surged forward. “Damn it all!”
Verderan stopped him with a glance. “He’s blustering, Harry, because of grievous wounds to his amour propre.” He turned back to Osbaldeston. “No one here’s in season, George, so go fire your shots elsewhere. As for the girl, as far as I’m concerned she’s free to do as she pleases.”
Violet glared at her erstwhile protégée. “You’ll come with me, my girl, if you know what’s good for you!”
“And why should I?” demanded Titania pertly. “You said I’d have some say. I don’t like him,” she said with a dismissive glance at Osbaldeston, “and he told me he hardly ever goes to London. He prepares for hunting, he hunts, and he recovers from hunting, and I’ll give Granny’s best stays he never talks of anything else. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in the provinces.”
“What airs and graces!” scoffed Violet. “You’ll come with me because you won’t get your cut otherwise.”
“I know that,” said the girl. “But I’ve still got that trinket you gave me to show myself off with, and he donated a bit.” Osbaldeston looked daggers at her. “I haven’t lost much, and now I think I’ll do better to act for myself.” She swayed to lean against Verderan.
He pushed her gently away. “I hope this doesn’t destroy your self-esteem, Titania, but I am not the slightest bit interested in playing Oberon.”
She looked at him in sharp surprise, then shrewd assessment. She obviously decided he was speaking the plain truth, for she wilted prettily. “Oh dear,” she sighed. “But please, you won’t give me back to them, will you?”
“I’ve already said you may do as you please.”
“No, she damned well may not!” bellowed Osbaldeston. He grabbed the girl by the arm and yanked her towards the door. Titania gave an outraged squeal and bit his hand. Verderan got hold of her and pulled her against his chest, out of danger.
“Unhand that child!” declared Hector in ringing tones as he stalked into the hall, followed at a run by a horrified Emily.
Verderan unhanded the child immediately, all amusement gone. “And who the devil are you?” he asked.
“I am the Reverend Hector Marshalswick, vicar of this parish. I am here to tell you that we will not tolerate such rank evil in our midst.” He marched over to Titania and took her hand. “My poor child,” he said in mellow tones. “What have they done to you?”
For once Titania was utterly at a loss. After a wild look round, she burst into convincing tears against Hector’s greatcoat.
Emily came forward to stand beside the couple and looked up at Verderan, white as death. “How could you?” she demanded.
Verderan decided to have done with all this. He put a hand out to Titania to stop the act and get some sense. Emily immediately leapt between him and the girl. “Don’t you dare touch her!” she cried.
So instead, he grabbed her. “And don’t you dare leap to such unwarranted conclusions!”
“Unwarranted! I can believe my own eyes, you—you libertine!”
“If you have such keen eyesight,” Verderan snarled, “who’s that?” He physically turned her to face Violet.
Emily stared for a minute and then recognized the woman. “The Violet Tart,” she said. “It’s an orgy.”
Despite his anger, Osbaldeston sniggered at the name. Violet went puce again. “So this is your new fancy piece,” she sneered. “Jake Mulholland implied as much.”
“Jake Mulholland is a dead man,” Verderan said flatly. “I have no profound objection to shooting a woman either.”
“Amazing,” said Osbaldeston, with an unpleasant smile. “You’ll meet Mulholland. You threaten even to meet a woman, but you won’t accept a challenge from a man who’s as good a shot as you.”
“I’ll meet you anywhere, anytime, Osbaldeston,” snapped Verderan. “Now get out of my house!”
“Not without the girl.”
“Go to hell!”
Emily had listened in numb shock, Verderan’s hands still on her shoulders, but now she came to life and struggled. “Take your filthy hands off me!” she cried. “You’re no better than a slaver!”
“Unhand that woman!” cried Hector yet again, somewhat at a disadvantage as he already had his hands full of a weeping, clinging damsel in distress.
“You let go of my girl!” shrieked Violet and tried to pull Titania away.
“Hello, Ver,” said Randal, coming in the doorway, Sophie on his arm. “Staging a theatrical?”
There was a blessed moment of silence.
Verderan let Emily go and she ran to Hector’s side.
Titania twisted out of Violet’s hands and skipped over to Kevin Renfrew.
Verderan ran a hand through his curls. “Randal, I don’t know what cloud you floated down from, but thank God. Perhaps you can return things to sanity. Get rid of those two,” he said, indicating Osbaldeston and Violet. As Randal sauntered over to address the matter, Verderan added, “Wait.”
He turned to Violet Vane. “What did he bid?”
She looked around uncertainly, weighing it all. “Two hundred. Guineas.”
“And her cut?” he asked, indicating Titania, who was keeping shrewd track of the proceedings.
“Fifty,” said Violet.
“Titania, is that right?”
The girl nodded.
“What heavy expenses you have, Violet,” Verderan said dryly, but he pulled out a card and scribbled an IOU on the back for a hundred and fifty guineas. “You’ll have payment tomorrow.” To Osb
aldeston he said, “Don’t be forever expecting me to pay your debts, George.”
Osbaldeston’s jaw was tight. “But”—he glared at Titania—“that little bitch stole twenty guineas from me. If you’re taking over the lease, you damn well owe me that.”
“Nonsense,” said Verderan. “It’s fair for a night’s work. If you have any complaint over this, I will meet you, George, but you’ll end up looking the fool.”
Osbaldeston obviously decided this was all too true and grimaced bitterly. “There’ll come a day ... ,” he muttered. But then he turned on his heel and stalked out, Violet scurrying after with the IOU tight in her hand.
“Hello, Sophie,” said Verderan, going over to his newest guest. “I hope you still like madcap adventures.”
She was watching everything, bright-eyed from inside a magnificent drab carriage coat, lined and pelerined with sable. She wore no bonnet, but carried an enormous sable muff. She cheerfully accepted a warm embrace and a kiss. “Of course. As soon as we read the letters we just knew we had to come. What on earth’s going on?”
“As is usual around here,” Verderan said with a sigh, “your conversation doesn’t make any sense. Come and meet the other lady present.” He led her over to where Emily was standing, dumbstruck. “Sophie, this is Miss Emily Grantwich of Grantwich Hall, my nearest neighbor. Emily, Lady Randal Ashby. The gentleman with her is, of course, her husband, Lord Randal.”
Emily had leapt to the worst possible interpretation when this pretty young woman had fallen happily into Verderan’s arms. Now, instead of a polite greeting, she found herself saying, “Chloe’s cousin, Randal.”
Verderan took a little breath. “Chloe’s cousin, Randal,” he agreed. “You know Chloe Stanforth?”
“Yes, she’s my old school friend.”
“And did you perhaps write to her and tell her of my arrival in the district?”
“Yes,” said Emily, not admitting that she’d told Chloe rather more than that.
“So the letters are perhaps explained,” said Verderan to Sophie. “Chloe doubtless wrote to Randal to what? Ask him to save Emily from predators?”
