But Elizabeth had soon changed the Tewksbury legacy. The moment Royce's father had slipped the ring upon her finger, she'd tightened the coffers, now filled with money she'd brought to the estate. After producing an heir, as was her duty, she'd banned her husband from her bed, ending all that messy business, and proceeded to raise their son to honor his family name.
Of course, things ran much smoother after her husband had the good grace to pass along. But now her son threatened the name with an unsuitable choice for his bride. Elizabeth knew she owed it to herself and to the Tewksbury legacy to keep the blood free from undesirables. The idea of him marrying someone like the Simmons chit, well, it just couldn't happen.
And she would do anything to ensure that.
* * *
Slowing her horse down to a walk, Laurel glanced at Steven, who rode beside her. "To tell you the truth, Steven, I don't know what to do about Royce anymore."
"Anymore?" He grinned at her. "When did you ever?"
"True enough," she agreed. "He can be a bit—"
"Exasperating?"
Sighing, Laurel nodded once. "Exactly."
"Ah, but that's not the real problem, is it?" Steven paused, before adding, "You could easily handle Royce if he was simply exasperating. However, my friend can also be charming, loyal, and amusing … to name a few of his finest qualities."
Another sigh escaped her, this one deeper than the last. "That is the crux of the problem."
"Hmmm," murmured Steven. "You have quite the dilemma."
A rustling sound in a nearby bush caught Laurel's attention. Ever since she'd left the house, she'd felt as if someone was watching her. "What was that?"
"I didn't hear anything." Steven peered around at the nearby bushes.
She shrugged away her apprehension as pure foolishness. "I was wondering if you thought—" She broke off as she heard another loud rustling, this time closer than the last. Before she knew what was happening, her horse bolted forward.
Terror lancing through her, Laurel clutched at the reins, trying desperately to regain control of her horse. The thundering hooves of her mount beat in furious rhythm with her heart as she raced through the park. Branches tore at her riding habit, ripping at the material, scratching the flesh beneath.
Wildly, she pulled back on the reins, hoping she could slow the mare's mad pace before she was thrown. Her arms ached as she tugged with all of her might until, finally, her horse began to calm. A few minutes later, she stopped him. Shaking with relief, Laurel slid off her mount, landing safely upon the ground where she collapsed, exhausted and frightened.
The sound of a horse charging down the narrow path caught her attention. Wearily, she lifted her head, expecting to see Steven charging forth, but she was wrong.
"Laurel!" Royce called as he leapt down from his horse and rushed to her side. Gathering her in his arms, he ran his gaze over her. "Are you hurt?"
Shaking her head, she settled against him, absorbing his comfort.
"Lord, I was so frightened," he admitted as he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. "I was riding toward you and Steven when I saw your horse bolt."
Another horse raced down the path with Steven on its back. "Is she hurt?" he called out.
"I'm not certain." Royce's response vibrated in his chest. "Why don't you ride back and bring a carriage to the east path? I'll carry Laurel out of the woods and we'll meet you there."
"Right." Wheeling his horse around, Steven headed back the way he'd come.
Royce hugged her closer still. "Nothing is ever easy with you." Pressing a kiss upon the top of her head, he laughed softly.
"I like to keep you guessing," she murmured weakly.
Standing slowly, Royce lifted Laurel into his arms, carrying her gently as if she were cherished. "You succeed, my sweet Laurel," he said. "Most heartily."
* * *
Heading straight for Lord Simmons' sideboard, Royce poured himself a brandy before he was invited to do so. Formalities be damned; he was still shaking from the sight of Laurel atop a runaway horse. Emptying his snifter, he topped off his glass again.
"I believe I'll join you," Lord Simmons said as he moved into the room.
"As will I," Steven added, shutting the door behind him.
Stepping back, Royce waved the other two men forward. "Lord knows we deserve it," he said as he sank into one of the armchairs. "I vow it took years off my life to see Laurel in danger like that."
"Mine as well," Steven agreed, sitting across from Royce. "I'm just thankful that you came along when you did, Royce, or else I would have been forced to leave Laurel alone while I rode for help."
Royce's hand shook as he took a sip of his brandy.
"Royce stopped here this morning and I directed him toward the park," Lord Simmons said as he joined them. "I'd say it was good timing all around."
Swirling his brandy, Royce asked the question that preyed on all of their minds. "Was the noise Laurel heard simply an animal or was it a person intent on startling her mount?"
"I don't know," Steven said with a shake of his head. "I didn't see anything at all."
"It must have been an animal. Who would want to hurt my daughter?"
"I'm not certain, but we can't rule it out." Swiftly, Royce explained what had happened at the Hammingtons, beginning with the man he'd chased away. "This is the second time someone has tried to hurt Laurel."
"Do you really believe we can compare the two incidents? After all, one only threatened her reputation while this latest endangered her very life," Lord Simmons pointed out.
Leaning forward, Royce met the older man's gaze. "I don't see how we can dismiss what happened at the weekend party. What if the attempts to harm Laurel are intensifying?"
"Whoa," Steven said, holding up both his hands. "Aren't we getting a bit ahead of ourselves? For all we know, it could have been an animal that startled her horse."
"Perhaps it was," Royce conceded, "but what if it wasn't? What if someone is looking to harm Laurel for some reason beyond our comprehension? If we fail to consider every possibility, regardless of how far-fetched it might seem, then we might be endangering Laurel in the process."
Lord Simmons frowned, concern etching harsh lines upon his brow. "How should we proceed then?"
Propping his elbows on his knees, Royce clasped his hands to keep them still. "I suggest that we keep a closer eye on her."
"I was riding right beside her when this happened, Royce," Steven said dryly. "Hew much closer can we be?"
"Point well taken." Royce leaned back in his chair, trying to think of a suitable solution. After a moment, an idea began to form. "Lord Percy, would you consider placing your staff on alert? For instance, it would help if the next time Laurel went riding, a groom checked her saddle and bridle to ensure no one had tampered with it."
"Or if she received a package, it could come to you for inspection before being given to Laurel," Steven added, warming to the idea.
"Exactly." Tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair, Royce continued to expand upon his plan. "And whenever she decides to attend any social function, you can arrange for someone you trust to personally accompany her."
Pressing two fingers against his temple, Lord Simmons leaned his head back against his chair. "All of her social events?" He groaned softly. "I shall have to enlist the help of others for I can't even hope to keep up with Laurel's social obligations. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"Then call upon me," Steven offered without hesitation. "I'd be delighted to escort Lady Laurel wherever she wished to go."
"As would I," Royce added, shooting a glare at Steven.
Lord Simmons nodded in agreement. "I will most certainly call upon you both to aid me in protecting my daughter."
The slow smile that crept upon Lord Simmons' lips caught Royce's attention. "Why are you looking so satisfied?"
"It's nothing, really," Lord Simmons stated, affecting an air of nonchalance as he leaned back in his chair.
"Come now," Royce returned, a corner of his mouth quirking upward.
"Very well." Lord Simmons stretched out his legs. "It's just that I realized if the two of you are intent on dancing attendance on Laurel, then it will leave very little room for Devens to come around."
Royce grinned broadly, more than satisfied with that result. It would be bad enough for him to be tripping over Steven; the last person he wanted to deal with was that bastard Devens.
* * *
Margaret arrived at Lady Hamilton's soiree garbed in her finest attire, determined to show Royce that he hadn't affected her in the least.
Whipping open her fan, she joined a group of young ladies who were dowdy and plain and would make her appear even more sophisticated and beautiful. After making certain she was positioned where she could see the entire room, Margaret began scanning the crowd for Royce.
"I swear to you, Eleanor, I saw him carrying her through the park."
"Impossible."
"How scandalous."
"I thought it was romantic."
Margaret felt like hissing at the ninnies around her to be silent so she could concentrate. However, the handsome Lord Conover was smiling at her from across the room and she didn't want to appear anything less than the perfect lady.
"Personally, I thought it was the stuff of dreams," sighed the first speaker, Plain Ninny Number One.
"I still find it difficult to believe that he would carry her through the park in broad daylight … with everyone watching."
Plain Ninny Number Two, Margaret thought, her throat aching to shout at them to be quiet.
"It was most inappropriate."
Obviously Plain Ninny Number Three had spinster blood running through her veins, for Margaret had to agree with Plain Ninny Number One. Indeed, she would have found the gesture extremely romantic.
"Then I suppose she's the one he's chosen," sighed the last girl.
That phrase caught Margaret's attention. Spinning on her heel, she turned to face the unattractive quartet. "I couldn't help but overhearing," she began in her most pleasant voice, "and you've gotten me curious as to whom you're speaking about."
"Why, the Earl of Tewksbury, of course," supplied Plain Ninny Number Two.
Number Three sniffed at her. "I thought everyone who was anyone had heard the tale by now."
Sneering at the snaggle-toothed witch, Margaret snapped, "Obviously you were mistaken." She shifted her attention onto Number Two. "Are you certain it was the Earl of Tewksbury?"
She nodded her overly large head. "Sarah saw it with her own eyes."
Immediately, Margaret focused on the ninny named Sarah. "When did you see Lord Tewksbury?"
"Just today," stammered the young woman.
Margaret reeled backward. While she'd been planning her revenge and regretting exposing her vulnerability to Royce, he'd been traipsing through the park wooing a female for all to see. Shaking with the effort to suppress her anger, Margaret demanded, "Who was she?"
Sarah's eyes grew wide, apprehension darkening them. "Perhaps I shouldn't gossip about—"
Reaching out, Margaret clasped the ninny's wrist and dug her nails into the soft underside. "Tell me," she hissed in a low voice.
"It was Lady Laurel Simmons," the ninny stammered, tugging at her arms "Now, please let me go."
Flinging away the girl's wrist, Margaret struggled to calm herself; she needed to decide how to handle this new bit of gossip. Oh, Royce was going to pay for his sins doubly now, for not only had he decided upon another woman, but he'd also as good as publicly declared his affections.
And she'd had to learn the truth from the Ninny Quartet.
Stumbling only once, Margaret made her way outside, hoping the fresh air would calm her.
After all, she had to be collected in order to plan her revenge against Royce and his unlucky bride-to-be, Lady Laurel Simmons.
The scrape of a heel alerted Margaret to the fact that she was no longer alone on the veranda, so she couldn't give in to her urge to scream in anger. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed out her expression before turning to see who had joined her.
The very moment she saw the man standing behind her, everything clicked into place. She had found her perfect accomplice.
* * *
"All of society is talking about it," Harriet said as she adjusted her sunbonnet. "How the dashing Lord Van Cleef came striding out of the woods with the once independent Lady Laurel draped across his chest … snuggled against him in a most intimate fashion," she finished in a mock whisper.
Groaning, Laurel laid her head against the chaise that her father had moved into the gardens at the rear of the house. "It was nothing like that at all," she explained. "I had just been startled to the point of weakness and Royce was carrying me to a carriage Steven had called for us."
"I know that, but you have to admit the gossips' version is far more romantic," Harriet said with a smile.
How could anything be more romantic than having Royce come to her rescue just when she so desperately needed him? Still, Laurel didn't want to admit to anyone, not even her best friend, how Royce had made her feel when he'd cradled her against him. What was it about him that made her start to tingle, yet melt at the same time, whenever she saw him? Whatever it was, Laurel knew it was best to avoid him until she was able to regain control of her emotions.
"Even I love to hear the story about your rescue," sighed Harriet, twirling a ribbon on her dress. "I'd love to have just one gentleman want me, but they all seem infatuated with you at the moment."
Frowning slightly, Laurel shook her head. "That's not true at all. What I am this season is the prize in a wager … which has nothing at all to do with infatuation."
"I'd settle for being the prize," Harriet disagreed. "The attention Royce gives you is far more than most women receive from gentlemen who claim to love them."
"At least those ladies know they possess the affections of their intended." Sobering, Laurel felt all of her doubts and fears well up inside of her. "Once Royce achieves his aim and claims me, then what happens? Will he tuck me in a house in the country where he will visit me only at his convenience?"
"I see your point," Harriet conceded, reaching out to help herself to a finger sandwich. "Then perhaps, Laurel, you should consider one of the other men who are interested in you."
"Other men?" Laurel scoffed with an indelicate snort. "What other men?"
"Come now, Laurel, don't tell me you haven't noticed." Laughing gaily, Harriet brushed the crumbs off her skirt. "You have quite a few suitors literally chasing after you. Just think of yesterday."
Waving a hand, Laurel dismissed her friend's claim. "Don't be ridiculous. They were only chasing after me because my horse turned wild."
"Ah, but Laurel, you're failing to notice that there were two men with you in the first place."
"Royce was joining us simply because he foolishly considers Steven a threat to winning his silly wager. You know that."
Rolling her eyes, Harriet reached for another treat. "And you were riding with Steven." She held up two fingers. "Two gentlemen."
"Steven only spends time with me because I asked for his help."
"Don't be naive, Laurel. No gentleman would spend so much time with a lady if he wasn't attracted to her." Harriet's expression turned decidedly smug. "Besides, I've seen how Steven looks at you when he doesn't think you notice. He is most interested in you."
"You must be wrong." But even as she said the words, memories filtered through her, memories of Steven smiling down at her as they danced, of his offering her his hand, of the way he always appeared by her side at social functions. Worry shifted through her. "I hope you're wrong, Harriet. I would hate to think that I'd encouraged him unintentionally in my efforts to best Royce." For if Harriet was right, then Laurel was engaging in the very behavior that she herself abhorred. Why, she'd accused Royce of acting with only his own interests in mind, never once considering that in her quest to outwit him, she'd
been doing the very same thing.
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
Entering his townhouse, Royce tossed his hat onto the sideboard. His visit to the Bow Street Runners had been exceedingly frustrating. They'd failed to uncover the identity of the man he'd accosted outside Laurel's door. For God's sake, there were enough people at Hammington's party. Surely someone had to have seen something!
Apparently not, if he was to believe the runner.
Raking a hand through his hair, Royce strode into his study, only to pull himself up short. The chaos that lay before him was shocking.
Bookshelves were overturned, papers ripped to shreds, and, worst of all, his business ledgers lay upon the fire that eagerly consumed the fragile papers. Grabbing a poker, Royce pulled the books from the blaze, but one glance told him he was too late. All of the figures, all of his work, had been burned in a matter of minutes.
"Giles!" he bellowed.
The butler ran into the room. "Dear Lord!"
Giles's exclamation echoed Royce's sentiments exactly. "Who did this?"
"I … I … don't know, sir," stuttered the butler. "No one has been in here since you left."
"It's quite obvious, Giles, that someone was indeed in my study." He turned toward his butler. "Call the servants together. We shall question everyone."
"Immediately, my lord," replied the butler as he hurried from the room.
Looking down at his books, Royce knew it would take him a long time to re-create them. The tremendous amount of work before him only made Royce more determined to discover who had committed this heinous act.
Tightening his jaw, Royce strode out of the room to find some answers.
* * *
"My lady!"
Her maid's shout brought Laurel's head up sharply. "In here, Mildred," she called out from the library, where she'd been enjoying a fine book of poems.
Running into the room, Mildred skidded to a halt. "Your clothes, milady!"
Laurel glanced down at her attire. Granted, she was wearing an older, slightly faded gown, but certainly nothing to cause alarm. "Yes?"
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