“Ah. I had not considered that. You must continue to remain acquaintances and no more, then.”
“Exactly. Let us hope Claudette has not heard the rumors about the Vaughns and, even more, does not believe them if she has.”
“Yes, that could cause trouble. Might be an idea to keep a close guard on them.”
“It might. We will just have to think of some reason it is needed, some reason they feel the need to add such guards.”
“Or a very good reason for them to have gained some extra burly, well-armed servants.”
Just as the Vaughns stepped up to him, Hartley felt a slim arm slide into the crook of his. The cold touch of a small hand on his forearm told him who it was even before he looked, as did the strong scent of roses. Claudette had returned to his side. Something about her posture told him that she was staking a claim on him. He glanced at the small, gloved hand clutching his arm, idly wondering why, despite the layers of cloth between them, that delicate hand burned his skin with cold. Death’s touch was cold, he thought, and then decided his imagination was obviously a lot stronger that he had known it was.
It was not until Aldus began speaking, politely making certain that everyone knew each other, that Hartley realized how deeply he had fallen into his own thoughts. The faint tightening of Claudette’s hand on his arm revealed that she had noticed his slip in manners. One thing he had learned about the woman at his side was that she was easily offended, seeing scorn or insult at every turn. He needed to keep his head clear and just try to accomplish his mission as best he could until he was officially relieved of the duty. He did not want to join Roberts and Peterson in the crowd of furious spirits clinging to Claudette.
Claudette began to flirt with Iago, and Hartley almost smiled. Did she think to make him jealous? It was several moments before unease began to creep over him. Claudette was not flirting; she was digging for information. She could be doing so for her sister’s sake, attempting to discover why Iago no longer visited Margarite’s bed, but Hartley doubted anything Claudette did was so innocent. He began to fear that he had already pulled the Vaughns into dangerous waters. Considering what Iago claimed he saw around Claudette, the man was holding up well, but Hartley wanted to warn him. When the small orchestra began to play a minuet, he saw a chance to do so. In as fulsome a manner as he could manage, hoping to soothe any stung vanity the woman might suffer, he parted from Claudette and led Alethea into the dance.
Dancing was not something Alethea did often and was not sure she could do well, but she made no protest when Hartley led her into the crowd assembling for the dance. She had decided it might be best if she avoided as many of these affairs as possible. Just seeing Claudette at his side, clinging to his arm with an obvious air of possessiveness, was enough to make her want to flee the ballroom. She was certain now that she could not endure watching him work to seduce the woman, at least not without revealing how much it pained her to do so. She had no wish to make a fool of herself.
“You must warn Iago to be very careful around Claudette,” Hartley said in a low voice as he led her through the steps of the dance with an easy grace that made her look good.
“I think my uncle is all too aware of what a viper that woman is,” Alethea said, frowning as she looked at his face, and wondered how he could look so calm when she could sense how troubled he was. “He sees the death around her, if you recall.”
“I know, but how skilled is he at playing the games of spies and traitors, at deceit?”
“Not very, I think. It is not one he has played before. Why? Need he be?”
“She is trying to pry information out of him.”
“I thought she was trying to discover why he had turned away from her sister.”
“That is just what she wants us to think. I did so for a little while. Vain fool that I am, I even thought she was trying to make me jealous. But then I began to listen more closely, more carefully. She seeks information. I fear that, because you and he now appear to be our friends, she may well think that Iago knows far more than he does. After all, she knows what we are, that we are working for the government. It is why she turned her attention my way.”
Alethea tensed and fought the urge to run to her uncle and drag him away, far away, from that woman. “Iago is neither stupid nor foolish. I do not think you need to worry that he will disclose any information she seeks. I say again, do not forget, he sees far more clearly than anyone how soaked in innocent blood she is.”
“So I thought, but I would feel remiss if I did not at least issue some warning.”
“Accepted, and I will be sure to tell him of it at the first opportunity.”
“We think it might be time to put a guard on you and Iago.”
“That is something you will need to discuss with him, but I will be sure to tell him of your wishes.” Alethea wondered if she sounded as coolly polite to him as she did to herself.
They finished the dance in silence, one that held a hint of discomfort, as if they both wished to say something but could not. Every touch of Alethea’s hand, every brush of her body against his, had Hartley fighting for control. Even the reminder that she had visions, had a gift he did not understand, did not dim his growing need to hold her close, to taste her passion.
When the music ended and she looked up at him, he was caught fast in the warmth of her silvery blue eyes. Each time he looked at her, she grew more beautiful to him. He started to lean toward her, giving in to the need to taste her lips once more, and hastily caught himself, stepping back and politely offering her his arm. She was causing chaos in his life, his mind, and, he feared, his heart, but he did not know what to do about it. There was even a part of him that did not want to do anything to stop it, and that part was gaining strength daily.
It was difficult to restrain a loud, childish tantrum when Hartley left her at her uncle’s side and took a sickeningly coy Claudette away to dance. Alethea knew she had seen a hunger in Hartley’s eyes, a wanting that matched her own, but he had pulled back from her. Her lips had tingled with the promise of the kiss she had seen in his expression, in the way he had begun to bend toward her. She sternly reminded herself that they were in public, that he had a job to do, a duty to king and country, but a large part of her wanted to tell king and country to go to the devil and take Claudette with them. Hartley was dancing with and smiling at Claudette when he should be dancing with and smiling at her. In the hope of distracting herself from her own tumultuous emotions, she accepted Aldus’s request for a dance.
Two hours later, Alethea had had enough. More than enough. She was desperate to go home. As if to compensate for his ever-so-brief lapse with her, Hartley was wooing Claudette with what appeared to be true ardor, and Alethea was sick to death of watching them. Iago was deep in a conversation about investments with Lord Dansing, however, so Alethea decided she would take a stroll in the gardens. A little night air might be just what she needed to clear her head before she gave in to the jealousy gnawing at her heart and did something foolish. In the game they were all caught up in at the moment, doing something foolish could easily prove deadly.
The crisp night air was like a much-needed slap, and Alethea breathed deeply of it as she meandered along the torchlit paths. The Lorings had an extensive garden, and she wished it were daylight so that she could enjoy the full effect of it. Gardens had always worked to calm her, their beauty a true balm for her soul.
And she sorely needed that calm, she mused as she paused to enjoy the quiet music made by the tumbling water of an elaborate fountain. She had entered the dangerous world of spies and traitors, lies and secrets. Her visions had shown her how evil that world could be. Events could not proceed as she wished them to in such a dark world. It did seem grossly unfair, however, that when she finally met a man she actually wanted, one who gave her the hope of finally tasting the passion poets rhapsodized over, he was out of her reach.
Even if she and Hartley became lovers, it would not stop his pursuit of Claudette. A
lethea could not give her body to a man who was trying his best to climb into another woman’s bed, no matter how honorable and understandable his reasons for doing so. Having an affair with a man, knowing the passion and delight he gave her would be a fleeting thing, was acceptable, no matter how much pain she suffered when he left her. Having an affair with a man who openly wooed and bedded another woman was not.
The sound of footsteps on the ground-shell path drew her from her moody thoughts. Alethea turned to see who else walked in the garden, and tensed. A large man was walking straight toward her. She stepped aside, hoping he was only exploring the garden as she was, even though her pounding heart told her otherwise. He just smiled, a cold, vicious smile that caused fear to rush up and choke her. Suddenly she knew why he was there.
She hiked up her skirts and started to run. A sharp cry of alarm escaped her when he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back toward him. When she had looked into his eyes, she had cursed her gift for being so slow to warn her of any danger to herself. It told her so many things, why could it not have warned her of this in time for her to avoid it? She struggled as best she could, but his tight grasp on her hair, his strength and size, and her heavy, restrictive clothing all worked against her.
“You are making some people very angry,” he said.
Alethea shuddered when he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side, and his hot breath brushed against her cheek. He smelled of smoke and ale, but strong as those scents were, they could not disguise the fact that the man badly needed a bath. Even though too many people still shied away from bathing regularly, this man smelled bad in a different way from the ones in the ballroom. He smelled of the streets and alleys of the city. There was another scent there, but she could not grasp what it was even though her mind told her it was important. He was also dressed fine enough to mix in, but she was certain he was not of the ton. Then he idly rubbed his big hands over her breasts, and she gagged, the sense of defilement the touch brought almost more than she could bear.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said, pleased that her voice remained steady, revealing none of the bone-deep terror she felt.
“I am to tell you to go home, to take your fine self far away from Lord Redgrave.”
Claudette, she thought as he turned her around and held her in place with one big hand wrapped tightly around her wrists. He also stood just far enough away that kicking him was not an option open to her. Alethea did not know what she or Hartley had done to anger the woman, yet something had obviously warned Claudette that Hartley was not falling into her snare.
“How ridiculous,” she said. “I am no threat to any woman.”
“Oh, I think you are. Now, I would much rather be tossing up your skirts and having a turn with you, but I have my orders. Not this time, she said. So I am hoping you do not heed this warning.”
As she watched his large fist move toward her face, Alethea found herself thinking that she much preferred a beating to what this man said he would rather be doing to her. And then pain exploded in her head.
Chapter 7
Hartley marched into Lord Loring’s snug library and helped himself to the brandy he knew the man kept there. The heat of the potent liquor quickly spread through his body, and he knew he would soon regain the control he had been losing in Claudette’s presence. Over the years the game of seduction had become second nature to him, but, with Claudette, he was struggling mightily to produce even a cool smile, let alone one that promised heated delights to tempt her into his bed.
So why was she looking so smug? he suddenly wondered. He had already been told, with charming subtlety, that she was not yet inviting him to be her lover, yet she had acted as if she had won the game already. One moment she was watching him with a definite glint of suspicion in her eyes, and the next she behaved as if he was hers for the taking. Even at his best he had never given a woman that amount of certainty about what he was going to do. It made no sense, and that worried him. In the business of intrigue, things that made no sense could prove fatal.
Just as he was about to pour himself another brandy, idly thinking that being a little drunk might make the rest of the night pass more easily, Iago strode into the room. The tense look on the younger man’s face sent a faint thrill of alarm through Hartley. He carefully set down his glass.
“Have you seen Alethea?” asked Iago. “I was hoping she was here with you.”
Hartley did not ask why Iago would think his niece would have slipped away with him to tryst in Loring’s library. Iago had caught him and Alethea in a heated embrace, after all. The news that Alethea was missing was too alarming to care about that indiscretion and how Iago might feel about it. She rarely moved from her uncle’s side during such events, and Hartley doubted she had gained any added confidence or acquaintances in the short time she had been in London. He tried to tell himself that he had not known her long enough to be so certain of that, but the certainty lingered.
“Where did you last see her?” he demanded.
“She was standing near me while Lord Dansing and I discussed some investments. I thought she may have been asked to dance, but she is not in the ballroom. Not in the refreshment room, either. Or the lady’s retiring room, or, as I now know, here with you. I am beginning to get concerned.”
“Are all the other players in this game accounted for?”
Iago nodded. “I made sure of that first, although, surely, ’tis too soon for anyone to see Alethea as a threat.”
“Perhaps not. Aldus, Gifford, and I have been to your house several times. I went there alone once. If we are all being watched closely, as I now believe we are, the danger we are playing with may already have reached out to you and Alethea.”
“You think someone has taken her?”
“Let us not race ahead of ourselves. Have you searched the gardens? The Lorings have a large, well-lit garden, easy to reach for the guests who wish a breath of fresh air.”
“I was going there next.”
“We will collect Gifford and Aldus on the way. They can help us search for her.”
Hartley strode out of the room, Iago close at his heels. Alethea could have just wandered off, tired of standing near Iago as he and Dansing talked, but Hartley’s gut told him it was more than that. His instincts had kept him alive in the dangerous world of intrigue he had walked through for years, and he was not about to ignore them now. Something was wrong. Somehow Alethea had stumbled into danger; he was certain of it.
What he was not certain of was the how or the why. The possible reason for Alethea’s disappearance came to him so suddenly and clearly that he nearly stumbled over his own feet. Claudette. Now he understood her sudden smugness. Somehow the woman had come to see Alethea as a threat to her plan to seduce secrets out of him. It could be a matter of simple stung vanity, but with a woman like Claudette, even that could be dangerous.
His gut twisted as he had to accept that this might be his fault. If Alethea was in danger or hurt, it was because he had given Claudette some reason to see her as a threat. He had erred somewhere, and it could be Alethea who paid the price for that.
He signaled to Aldus and Gifford as he and Iago walked through the ballroom toward the doors leading out into the gardens. Hartley’s certainty grew with each step he took. Somehow he had revealed his interest in Alethea, and Claudette had seen it. The woman had then acted quickly to remove the obstacle to what she wanted. The question that kept nagging at the edge of his mind, and caused what little doubt remained, was how had Alethea not foreseen the danger she was in.
Once outside he sent the other three men off in three different directions. He went straight, along the widest path that he knew led to an elaborate fountain. It was the site of many a tryst. The thought that Alethea may have disappeared because she was rendezvousing with some rogue caused him a sharp pain. He decided it had to be aggravation, that he was annoyed that she would do something so foolish and make them all afraid for her.
The sound of a man’s voice coming from the direction of the fountain caused Hartley to hesitate. If Alethea was trysting with another man, he really did not wish to see it. Shaking free of his hesitation, he moved closer with as much stealth as he could muster. Rage roared through him when he saw a man holding Alethea in a brutal embrace. It took all of his willpower to stop himself from racing over there to yank the man away from her and beat him into the ground. Caution was needed, he sternly reminded himself, and some of the red haze of fury eased. He could not yet be sure if the man had a weapon at hand, one he could quickly use against Alethea.
“You are making some people very angry,” the man said, his speech correct but the hint of an accent revealing it was only a thin veneer over a rougher, darker form.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Alethea said, and Hartley felt a definite sense of pride over how calm she sounded even though he knew she had to be badly frightened.
When the man groped Alethea’s breasts, Hartley barely smothered the growl that erupted deep in his throat. He wanted to kill the man for touching her so. The soft sound of Alethea gagging in revulsion only added to that fury.
“I am to tell you to go home, to take your fine self far away from Lord Redgrave.”
The man turned Alethea around, holding her by the wrists at a distance that told Hartley the man had done this sort of thing before and knew how to protect himself.
“How ridiculous. I am no threat to any woman.”
“Oh, I think you are. Now, I would much rather be tossing up your skirts and having a turn with you, but I have my orders. Not this time, she said. So I am hoping you do not heed this warning.”
Almost there, Hartley thought and cursed the ground shells and other garden detritus that made his progress so slow. Trying to remain in the shadows also slowed him down. His fists were clenched in anticipation of making the man pay dearly for touching Alethea. Then the man punched her. Hartley gave up all attempts at stealth, save for swallowing the urge to bellow out his rage. He ran, but even as he forced himself to as great a speed as possible, the man hit her again, tossed her alarmingly limp body to the ground, and kicked her. He was just pulling his foot back to kick her again when he finally noticed Hartley.
If He's Wild Page 9
