A MERRY CHASE

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  Every time he thought he understood Laurel, she turned him on his heel, surprising him with her reactions. Lord knew, his mother lived and breathed for the opinion of society, as did almost every other woman he knew.

  It would appear that his final wager on Laurel had indeed been his best.

  Following Laurel's example, he ignored the gossips and instead focused upon enjoying his evening.

  * * *

  Slowly fanning herself, Laurel waited for Royce to return with their refreshments since their steward seemed to have disappeared. Despite the rocky start, their evening was progressing nicely. If she ignored the people staring at them, forgot about her insecurities about his sincerity, and dismissed his mother's antipathy toward her, then she could almost believe that she might have a future with Royce.

  With that thought, she realized she could either laugh or cry. She chose the former.

  "Ah, the sound of an angel."

  Her amusement dried up instantly as she turned to face Archie. "You are not welcome here," she said firmly.

  Stepping forward, Archie announced loudly, "I couldn't resist you either, my love."

  His response made no sense. "What on earth are you talking about?"

  "I'm tired of fighting it as well." Again, he projected his voice, capturing the attention of those seated in the boxes closest to them.

  Feeling the weight of the stares, Laurel stood slowly. "Please leave now, my lord."

  Her demand was met with another bold announcement. "I know you never stopped loving me. Pressing both of his hands against his chest, he pledged his love to her. "Nor I you."

  Reaching out, Archie grabbed hold of her shoulders and began to tug her closer to him. Memories of his unwanted kiss propelled Laurel into action. Raising her arm, she struck Archie across the face with her fan, causing a red welt to form on his cheek and his expression to harden into an angry mask. The loud report of gasps told Laurel that many people were watching the drama being played out in the Van Cleef box.

  Archie's fingers dug painfully into her shoulders as he tried to pull her closer still. Bracing both of her arms against his chest, Laurel used every ounce of strength to hold him off. As she lifted her foot to kick him in the shin, Laurel lost her balance, tumbling against him.

  The unexpected movement sent Archie stumbling backward. Releasing her shoulders, he flailed his arms to find his balance, but failed. Archie fell backward and crashed into a chair. Sitting in a crumpled heap, rubbing his head, Archie looked pathetic, but Laurel wasn't about to linger and offer him assistance.

  Without a backward glance, she darted from the box in search of Royce.

  * * *

  On his way back to his seat, Royce spotted Margaret St. John lurking near the entrance to his box. He ducked behind a column, hoping she hadn't seen him. The last thing he wanted this evening was to engage in a conversation with Margaret. So until she moved, he would remain hidden.

  Setting his drinks on a nearby table, Royce looked up as Lord Hammington rounded the corner from the corridor that led toward the lobby. Hammington stopped when he caught sight of Royce. "Ho there, young man," he greeted with a short wave.

  "Shhhh," Royce hissed, pressing a finger to his lips.

  Frowning, Lord Hammington glanced around. "Have you arranged an … intimate meeting?" he asked with a puzzled frown, glancing around. "Though I must say you picked a poor spot for it."

  Wishing Lord Hammington would simply move on, Royce shook his head. Perhaps if he didn't encourage the man, he'd leave.

  "I say." Lord Hammington drew himself upward, scowling at Royce. "You're not meeting another gent, are you?"

  Royce groaned softly.

  "It's bloody peculiar is what it is," Lord Hammington said firmly. "Enough of that or people are going to talk."

  For some reason that comment struck him as funny. "As a dear friend recently told me, people are always going to talk, sir. I am merely lending them a hand."

  "Deuced odd, if you ask me," mumbled Lord Hammington as he rolled his eyes and continued down the hallway, straight toward Margaret. Pausing in front of her, he held out a warning finger. "You take care now, young lady." Lord Hammington glanced back over his shoulder and caught Royce peering out from behind the column. Shaking his head, he mumbled, "Damn peculiar fellows hanging about."

  Royce heard Lord Hammington's complaint halfway down the hall. So much for discretion. The lights flickered, indicating the end of intermission, but Margaret still hovered outside his box. He'd give her a few more minutes to leave on her own before he left his hiding spot to confront her.

  When it became clear that she wasn't leaving any time soon, Royce took a deep breath and stepped out into the hallway, just as Laurel came barreling out from behind the curtains. She careened into Margaret, knocking her against the wall, before spinning away and racing down the hallway. Immediately, Margaret entered the Van Cleef box, alarming him even more.

  Rushing forward, he peered in through the curtains to see Margaret kneeling next to Devens, who was lying on the floor. It was all too easy for him to guess what had transpired.

  Panic pulsed through him as he raced after Laurel, needing to find her more than he needed to punish Devens. He caught up to her as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Cupping her elbow in his hand, he steered her through a small door to the right of the staircase.

  As soon as they were alone, Laurel fell against him. As much as he wanted to demand an explanation, he gave her a few minutes to recover.

  Enfolding her close, Royce fought off his anger. Twice now Devens had terrified Laurel. While Royce had backed away once, he wouldn't do so again. No, this time, Devens would learn to stay away.

  "Laurel," he whispered, brushing a kiss across her brow. "Are you hurt?"

  Shaking her head, Laurel pushed back from Royce. "I'm fine." Swiftly, she explained all that had taken place while he'd been fetching their refreshments. Royce struggled to remain calm. She'd needed him and he'd been busy avoiding Margaret. Shame filled Royce as he listened to Laurel tell him about her fear.

  When she fell silent, he tried to step away, but she held onto his arm. "Where are you going?"

  "I have to find him," Royce ground out roughly.

  "No, please," she whispered, tightening her grip. "No more tonight."

  Looking down at her, Royce felt torn. He so badly wanted to find Devens and rip him apart. Yet this woman, who had stood so bravely before the gossips, laughed at his mother's venomous insults, and handled an unrequited suitor looked as if she were about to collapse. How could he leave her when she needed him?

  Royce promised himself he'd pay a visit to Devens first thing in the morning … and convince him of his mistake. Now, however, he'd give Laurel what she needed.

  Folding his hand over hers, he smiled gently at her. "Let me take you home."

  "Please," Laurel murmured, sagging against him.

  With an arm wrapped firmly around her, Royce escorted Laurel through the empty lobby and into the cool night air, all the while devising a plan to rid himself of Devens and Margaret for good.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  « ^ »

  Armed with information he'd only just uncovered, Royce demanded entrance to Devens' townhouse. During the night, his rage had cooled into a frozen determination to make this problem go away once and for all. Pounding on the door, he waited for someone to answer.

  After a few moments, an elderly woman cracked open the door. "It's a mite early for a call," she grumbled.

  "I don't plan on being polite," Royce muttered, pushing the door open wider before stepping inside.

  "You can't come in 'ere!"

  Royce didn't even pause at the maid's protest as he shut the door behind him. "Where is Devens?"

  "He's still abed," replied the maid. As Royce headed for the stairs, she shouted after him. "You can't go up there."

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he ignored her cries as he began to open door after door,
looking for Devens' bedroom. Four doors down, he found a darkened room. Stepping in, Royce looked at the bed and saw a large lump beneath the covers. With one swipe, he'd yanked the covers back, exposing Devens' nightshirt-clad body to the chill morning air.

  "What the devil?" blustered Devens as he roused himself.

  "The devil is right, for I'm mad as Hades." Royce slapped a hand against the bedpost. "Wake up, Devens."

  Pushing into a sitting position, Devens had the intelligence to look apprehensive. "How dare you barge into my home like this?"

  "You have no idea how much I'll dare," Royce returned, placing a booted foot upon the bed. "But I promise you'll be enlightened before I leave here today."

  Devens held a pillow in front of himself. "I presume you're here to discuss Laurel."

  "How perceptive of you," Royce drawled as he leaned forward. "Your comprehension surprises me, Archie old boy, because you haven't demonstrated a wealth of intelligence to date."

  An affronted expression twisted Devens' features. "You break into my house and insult me when you have no understanding of the situation?"

  "Oh, I understand perfectly," Royce replied, lowering his voice. "I know all about why you've returned and why you're pursuing Laurel."

  "I missed her," Devens retorted.

  Shaking his head, Royce corrected him. "You missed her money, Devens."

  "That's not true," he protested. "I missed the way she—"

  "Let's not play games," Royce interrupted, allowing the full measure of his anger to show. "I know about the creditors hounding you, about the debts to quite a large number of gentlemen, about the poor investments." He narrowed his eyes. "I know about it all."

  Flushing, Devens cleared his throat. "That shall all be cleared up shortly."

  "If you thought to do it with Laurel's funds, think again." Remembering his promise to Laurel, Royce took a step back, afraid that if he went any closer he'd do physical harm to Devens. "Consider this fair warning, Devens, if you so much as approach Laurel, no, if you so much as look at her, I'll ruin you," Royce vowed, his voice vibrating with the intensity of his feelings.

  "And just how would you do that?" Devens demanded.

  Smiling slowly, Royce explained, "Most of the gentlemen to whom you owe large amounts of money are friends of mine. I could easily ask them to call in the debts immediately."

  Devens froze. "You couldn't do that," he whispered.

  "Ah, but I could, Devens," Royce countered. "Very easily, in fact." He crossed his arms and continued hammering his point home. "Then I could go one step further. What do you think would happen if I told all of the establishments where you had overdue accounts that I would no longer bring my business to them if they didn't call in your debts?"

  Reaching out a hand, Devens steadied himself against the headboard.

  "And we haven't even discussed how a magistrate would react if complaints were brought against you." Smiling pleasantly, Royce asked, "Have you ever seen the inside of debtor's gaol? I assure you it isn't a pretty sight."

  "I … I … I have investments that are just about to pay out," Devens sputtered.

  "I assume you're speaking of the ship due in from America," Royce guessed. At Devens' nod, Royce shook his head. "I fear you won't receive any profits from that investment either, Devens. You see, I decided you needed a small sampling of what would come if you didn't leave Laurel alone."

  Before Devens could demand an explanation, a loud banging sounded on the front door.

  "I believe that will be your solicitor to tell you that your last hope—that ship coming from the Americas—well, she arrived in port early this morning … with empty cargo holds."

  Disbelief darkened his expression. "Impossible."

  Enjoying the sweetness of revenge, Royce grinned broadly. "Oh, it's quite possible. I assure you it is." He rocked back on his heels. "You see, as I own the ship, I'm always the first to be informed of her losses."

  "You had them dump the cargo?"

  Royce lifted his brows. "Perhaps I did underestimate you, Devens. That's twice now that you've figured things out all on your own."

  "But dumping the cargo would cost you a fortune as well," Devens rasped.

  Grabbing hold of the bedpost once more, Royce leaned in closer. "Yes, but the difference between us, Devens, is that I can afford to lose a fortune. Can you?"

  Satisfaction filled Royce at the raw fury blazing across Devens' face. Heading for the door, he tossed one last warning over his shoulder. "Remember, if you go near her again, I will destroy you."

  Devens' rage-filled roar sounded like sweet music indeed.

  Royce shut the door behind him. Now it was time for Margaret St. John to learn a lesson of her very own.

  * * *

  "My lord," Margaret exclaimed in a breathy voice. "What an unexpected pleasure."

  Not for long, Royce thought to himself. "We need to speak about last night."

  If he hadn't been watching carefully, he would have missed the flare of alarm in her eyes. As swiftly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a look of innocence. "The Opera?" She fluttered her lashes at him. "I did so love the performance, didn't you?"

  "Hmmm," he murmured, "especially the one that occurred in my private box."

  "Excuse me?"

  Her voice dripped sweetness and light, but Royce saw beyond the façade. "Certainly you remember standing guard for your friend, Archie Devens."

  Even Margaret wasn't a good enough actress to mask her reaction. "You saw me?" she whispered, before catching herself. "I was waiting for you, of course."

  "Of course," he returned dryly, "which is why you didn't even notice me behind you as you rushed to Devens' aid."

  Her mouth opened and closed.

  "Don't go to the trouble of thinking up an excuse, Margaret." Royce grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I've already seen beneath your façade, Margaret … and what lay beneath isn't appealing."

  Jerking herself free, Margaret glared at him. "You don't know me at all."

  "True, but the little I do know hasn't encouraged me to look further." Taking a step forward, Royce issued his warning. "Think twice before you scheme up any other tricks, Margaret, or I'll forget I'm a gentleman."

  "What will you do, my lord? Challenge me to a duel?"

  "Come now, Margaret. Nothing as crass as all that," He folded his arms. "I prefer to arm myself with the truth."

  Lifting her nose, Margaret sneered at him. "The truth? What a foolish threat," she said with a laugh.

  "Don't discount it, Margaret. I can be most … inventive, if properly motivated." A chill swept over him. "And when you threaten Lady Laurel Simmons, it inspires me as nothing else could."

  Margaret waved her arm. "You must treat me to some of these wondrous tales you'd tell."

  "Not tales, Margaret. The truth," he reminded her. "With the right incentive … or should I say the right amount of coin … even the most loyal of servants would turn against their employer."

  "What the devil are you talking about?"

  Royce tilted her chin up. "What I'm speaking about, Margaret, is this scandalous story I just paid a pretty penny for … one about you and a young footman exchanging intimacies in the pantry."

  The color drained from her face. "Who told you that?"

  "Does it truly matter?" Dropping his hand to his side, Royce moved away. "But never fear, Margaret, I would never spread such a vile tale." He speared her with his gaze. "However, if you do not stay far away from Lady Laurel, I would not hesitate to let everyone know about your family's shaky finances. My sense of gentlemanly honor doesn't extend quite that far."

  "You're vile," Margaret spat, her features twisting in disgust and fury.

  Shrugging off her anger, Royce continued. "Look at the bright side, Margaret. If the truth were to come out, you wouldn't be troubled with fortune hunters any longer."

  A small shriek of fury escaped her.

  Satisfied he'd made his point, Royce want
ed nothing more than to leave her soiled presence. "So heed my advice, Margaret, and stay away from Lady Laurel or pay the consequences."

  Shaking with anger, Margaret fisted her hands. "No one would believe you."

  "Oh, but they would," Royce corrected her. "I am a respected member of society." Tilting his head to the side, he asked her, "Now who do you think would be bold enough to call me a liar?"

  "I don't believe you would actually spread any tales at all. You're too much of a gentleman," Margaret announced boldly, allowing her hands to drop to her sides.

  Shaking his head, Royce glared at Margaret. "Don't force me to carry through on my threats, because I will expose your family finances, Margaret." Heading toward the door, Royce paused with his hand on the knob. "Just try me," he vowed again, before slipping out into the fine morning sun.

  All in all, it had been a productive day … and it was early still.

  * * *

  "…so you see, I left Devens with little choice," Royce finished as he sat back in his chair.

  Nodding, Laurel took a sip of tea, digesting the information Royce had just given her. "Quite clever of you," she murmured.

  "Not really," he demurred. "I merely applied a common strategy to rid us of that pest."

  "Ah, one of your infamous strategies."

  Stiffening, Royce looked at her. "It worked, didn't it?"

  "Indeed, it did," Laurel acknowledged softly. "As do most things when you apply your stratagems to them."

  "That's true," he replied, relaxing once more. "Life is infinitely more enjoyable when you approach it logically."

  And what neat slot did she fit into? Laurel wondered. Taking a sip of her tea, Laurel couldn't understand what had come over her this morning. Last night had been so traumatic, so overwhelming, she'd woken up in a pensive mood.

  Still, Royce's blunt statements bothered her even though she tried to think of them calmly. Suddenly she was glad that she hadn't had the opportunity to speak to Royce about giving their relationship a second chance.

  Holding in a sigh, Laurel looked at Royce. "I appreciate all you've done for me," she said, meaning every word. Regardless of what the future might hold for them, she would always appreciate his efforts.