Barefoot in Hyde Park (The Hellion Club Book 2)

by Chasity Bowlin

  He glanced back at her over his shoulder, his gaze holding an apology that she did not want. Then the tree, only inches above her head, seemed to explode. A shower of bark and wood chips rained down on her, some of them stinging her flesh.

  Then she felt Val’s arms around her, taking her to the ground, his body covering hers.

  Touching one hand to her face, it came away wet with blood. “What happened? What was that?” she asked, staring at the red stains on her fingertips in horror.

  His expression quizzical, he said, “Someone tried to shoot you. Tell me, Lillian Burkhart, how many enemies have you amassed in your short life?”

  “There’s no one,” she said.

  Suddenly grim, he said, “That’s what I was afraid you would say. You might not have any enemies, but I have them by the score. And it seems I’ve given them a new target.”

  Chapter Seven

  He’d never been more furious in his life. Having such an intimate moment in such a public place had been undeniably foolish. It had been bad enough when he simply thought someone had spied on them. But afterward, with Lilly lying on the ground, blood streaking the porcelain perfection of her cheek, Val could admit that he’d been afraid. It was an emotion he’d experienced very infrequently in his life, and it was one that he detested. The urge to run after the person who’d tried to hurt her had warred with his need to keep her close, to be certain of her safety. In the end, that had won out.

  They’d left the park quickly and returned to the townhouse where a physician had been summoned. He’d taken one look at her, proclaimed her healthy enough, advised them to keep the wounds clean and left with the promise of a hefty bill to be sent.

  “You need a better physician,” Val snapped at this grandmother.

  “He’s a perfectly capable physician, and you, Valentine, are being unreasonable,” the dowager duchess replied sourly. “She’s not the only woman to ever be injured. Good heavens. One would think this was a love match rather than a blatant attempt to goad your old grandmother into an early grave!”

  Val halted his pacing and glared at her. “Don’t pretend with me. You’re as pleased as punch about all of this because you led me right into it. It’s just like playing chess with you when I was a boy!”

  She smiled then. “Prove it.”

  “I don’t have to prove it. I bloody well know,” he snapped.

  “Do not curse in my presence. I will not have it, Valentine,” she admonished.

  “Someone shot at her!”

  “Someone fired a shot that happened to go wild and in her general direction!” His grandmother waved her hand dismissively. “Do not seek plots where plots do not exist!”

  “It missed her by mere inches,” Val said. “She could easily have died.” The very thought of it made his blood run cold. It also tweaked his conscience. Had he not been so distracted by his own carnal desires, no one would have gotten close enough to them to take such a shot at her.

  “And we are all eternally grateful that she did not. And if—mind you that is a very great if—someone did try to harm her intentionally, there is no greater protection any woman can have than that of her husband’s name and title. The sooner you are married, the safer she will be. A companion might be killed without consequence, as we all sadly know, but a viscountess carries a far steeper penalty.”

  Val considered it for only a moment but, ultimately, he knew she was right. “Fine. In the meantime, keep Elsworth away from her.”

  His grandmother rolled her eyes. “Good heavens. You are in a terrible way if you’re jealous of your cousin! Why, she practically towers over him. Not so say she’s a long meg. Lovely girl, but Elsworth is… well, he’s Elsworth.”

  Val stopped. “I’m not jealous, Grandmama. But the simple fact is that you were going to leave all your wealth to Elsworth if I failed to marry. Within twenty-four hours of being betrothed to me, Miss Burkhart is nearly shot and killed in the park. I asked her who her enemies were and she said no one. But we both know that isn’t true now, don’t we? There is only person who will benefit from her death and he’s under this very roof.” With that, Valentine left. He didn’t bother with his horse or a hack. His destination was only a few streets over. There was one man who could help him—Highcliff.

  By the time he reached his friend and mentor’s residence, his temper had cooled enough that he could at least speak civilly. When the butler answered the door and proceeded to tell him that Highcliff was indisposed, Val simply pushed past the man rather than punching him in the nose. It was proof that he was in control of his rage.

  “Study or solarium?”

  “Study, my lord,” the butler said, with a heavy and much put upon sigh.

  Val knew the way. Marching down the hall, he rapped sharply on the door and let himself in.

  Highcliff was seated at his desk, dressed only in his shirt and breeches. His long hair was disheveled and there was a nearly empty bottle of brandy at his elbow.

  “Is that left over from last night or are you getting an early start?”

  “A late finish,” Highcliff answered. “Did I miss the part where my butler announced you? No. No, I did not. I did miss the part where I told him I was willing to receive callers this morning, however.”

  “I need your help,” Val said.

  “You and everyone else,” Highcliff retorted. He eyed the brandy speculatively for a moment, then without bothering with a glass, tipped it to his lips. When he lowered it to dangle from his fingertips, with a significantly decreased volume of liquid within, he added, “I’m not sharing. You’re not a guest, so I don’t have to.”

  “Then what the hell am I?” Val demanded.

  “At the moment? An interloper and a bloody nuisance. What do you want?”

  Val seated himself in the chair opposite the desk, ignoring his cantankerous friend’s indignant expression. “I need a special license.”

  “For what?”

  “To get married.”

  Highcliff set the bottle down with a thud. “Not this again. Bloody hell. You and Deveril are about to be the damned death of me. Can’t you just post the banns and get married the way normal people do? All this wedding business is making my head ache.”

  “I would be happy to, except that someone tried to shoot my betrothed this morning… and I think it was Elsworth,” Val explained. “I don’t have time to wait for the banns.”

  That certainly got his attention. No longer bleary eyed and appearing for all the world to be a dissipated rogue, Highcliff sat up straight. “Why?”

  “Grandmother’s ultimatum. Marry by year’s end, just over two months from now, or be written out of her will. All the wealth would go to Elsworth. I would get only the entailed properties which I’d never be able to support and would wind up a pauper.”

  “And he knew this was coming… he banked on your rebellious nature, didn’t he?” Highcliff said. “He’s never understood that you and your grandmother butt heads because you enjoy it and that it’s the way the two of you show affection to one another. He thinks your little spats are legitimate.”

  It made as much sense as anything else. “Something like that. But I think he may be in over his head and desperate. He needs the money, more so now than he ever has.”

  Highcliff cocked his head to one side, drummed his fingers on the desk, and said, “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “He’s been looking for investments for months now, talking primarily to people who will take him on credit of his expectations. So he’s clearly had an inkling for some time that this ultimatum was coming,” Val explained. “I suspect he’s bribed my grandmother’s man of affairs to give him intelligence on that score. And then I discovered, while I was at the tables, that he’s been in deep with some individuals who have been supplying arms to that small fraction of Frenchmen who think to pick up where Bonaparte left off—those that are already being watched by agents of the Crown.”

  “And where are these shipments of arms coming from�
�� or where were they intended to go?” Highcliff asked.

  “And with one question, you have cut straight through to the heart of the matter,” Val said on a heavy sigh. “All of those shipments that have been lost en route to our soldiers in India… they have been diverted by these individuals directly into the hands of our would-be enemies in France.”

  Highcliff let out a curse. “Does he know what they’re about? I’ve no great admiration for Elsworth, but this seems more brazen than something he would typically do.”

  “I think he does now. I do not believe he went into it knowingly. Regardless, he can’t just walk away from them. The only way to extricate him now is to cut off his funding… by getting married and meeting my grandmother’s demands.”

  “Deveril’s niece…” Highcliff paused as if deep in thought. “She was fathered by a man by the name of Alaric Munro… also known as Alaric West. Is there a connection?”

  Val sucked in a breath. “Yes. There is. One of the munitions factories that is frequently having shipments diverted through attacks by pirates or other brigands is owned by his stepfather. As you are aware, no doubt.”

  “I was aware, but I did wish to confirm. Have we identified all of the players yet?”

  “No. There are still a few shadowy figures, likely silent partners and perhaps even our peers who are invested in these companies or who are awarding government contracts to these companies when time and again they have failed to fulfill them,” Val answered. “You know as well as I do that this goes far beyond West and far beyond Elsworth.”

  “I do know that. And you’re right. We can’t afford to let all of this blow up in our faces until we’ve managed to out every last one of the villains.” Highcliff steepled his hands. “But there are other matters to consider in this moment. If it comes out, you’ll be ruined. And despite all you’ve done, Whitehall will wash its hands of you. They will not tolerate an operative with ties to a traitor. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I’m nearly done with it all anyway. I don’t know how much longer I can do what I do, Highcliff. Not if I want any shred of my soul left,” Val admitted.

  The other man nodded. “You’ve certainly done your part and then some. I do hate to lose you, though. Gambling and women are the best ways to get information out of anyone and no one plays cards like you. Fine. I’ll get your license for you. And you get Elsworth in check. I don’t want it to go down like this. He might be the nephew of a duke, but if it’s treason, that won’t keep him from Tyburn and it certainly will not keep society from turning on you like a pack of jackals.”

  “If another attempt on Lilly’s life occurs, Tyburn will be the least of his worries.”

  Highcliff drummed his fingers on the desk thoughtfully. “It may not be your cousin. You, my friend, have a very divisive effect on society. Those who have been saved from disgrace by your skill versus those who have been ruined by it have very different viewpoints of you. Have you considered that your decision to take her as your bride might be putting this young woman in terrible danger from sources outside your family?”

  “I have,” Val admitted. “But not even the best gossips in London move that quickly. It was only announced at dinner last night.”

  Highcliff nodded sagely. “That does seem fast, but rumors have spread faster. Don’t be so focused on Elsworth that you miss other very real threats.”

  “I won’t. If something happens to her because of me—” Val broke off abruptly, unable to complete the thought.

  “May God or the devil himself preserve me from the fate you and Deveril have succumbed to,” Highcliff replied with a dramatic roll of his bloodshot eyes.

  “And what fate is that?” Val demanded.

  Highcliff laughed. “If you don’t know yet, I’m not going to bloody tell you. When is this wedding to take place? For your sake, I hope it’s soon.”

  “As soon as the license can be obtained. It might take some doing. The archbishop holds a grudge.”

  Highcliff scrubbed his hands over his face. “Let me guess… you were the one who divested Selby of his ill-gotten gains?”

  “I was,” Val admitted, recalling the game with the archbishop’s nephew. “I offered to let him out of the debt, but he insisted on paying. He should never have been at that table. Or should have folded several hands earlier and walked away—as I advised him to do, I might add. Can you sway the archbishop to grant me this favor?”

  “It can be done, but you’ll owe me a considerable amount of brandy when it’s all said and done,” Highcliff replied. “You’ll need witnesses.”

  Val sighed. The last thing he needed was to invite his grandmother and have her show up with Elsworth in tow. The less his cousin knew of his plans the safer Lilly would be. “You can do it. Can’t you?”

  “I suppose. And the bride, whoever she may be, is there someone she would wish to be in attendance?”

  Val scrubbed a hand over his face. “Her name is Lillian Burkhart.”

  Highcliff laughed again. “You do realize that you and Deveril will now be related by marriage? You’re marrying the half-sister of his new bride.”

  “I’m aware,” Val answered. “They are in the country, are they not?”

  “Yes, and too far away to return in a timely enough fashion for your hasty nuptials, no doubt… but I imagine that your lovely bride-to-be would be pleased to have Miss Euphemia Darrow present as her witness, would she not? In lieu of the Honorable Mrs. Wilhelmina Ashton nee Marks, Lady Deveril, I doubt there is anyone else she would wish to invite.”

  There was something in the way Highcliff said the name of Lillian’s former headmistress and friend, a reverence that made him think they were more than simply acquaintances. “You know her then? Miss Darrow?”

  Highcliff shrugged, but there was something in his expression that hinted it was a sore subject. “I know everyone. It’s why I’m an excellent spy… that and the entire world thinks my only interest is waistcoats that could blind a man at twenty paces and any woman with a reasonably pert bosom. I’ll get the license and I’ll be certain that Miss Darrow is present at the church. St. Paul’s at nine o’clock day after tomorrow. I’ll call in a favor. Now, for God’s sake, go get the girl a ring and order her a posy. That’s what women want, isn’t it?”

  Val noted the tension in his friend as he spoke of Miss Darrow. “Not all women. Don’t fall into the trap of thinking you can predict one by the actions of another. Lilly is rather unlike any woman I’ve ever known. And I daresay that your Miss Darrow is, as well.”

  “She’s not my Miss Darrow. She’s not my anything. I’m not for the likes of her,” Highcliff replied. “And she certainly is not for the likes of me. Go. You’ve interrupted my day long enough and added more tasks to an already exhaustive list.”

  “Thank you for your help,” Val said. “You’re a good friend, Highcliff. And a better ally than I have deserved.” He didn’t wait for a response, just showed himself out. As he left, he couldn’t help but wonder what darkness it was that haunted the man he called his friend, because he’d seen a glimpse of it in there and it seemed to be eating the other man alive.

  *

  Lilly had been moved from her small chamber to one much more in line with her current standing as the betrothed of the heir apparent. As she lay there, bored out of her mind, her hands stroked the silk and velvet counterpane absently. Above her head, cherubs danced on fat, fluffy clouds in the painted tester of the luxurious bed that was roughly the same size as the room she’d previously inhabited.

  Neither her face nor her ankle was especially painful, and all she wanted was something to do, but everyone kept insisting that she had to rest. She’d been through so much, they all said. She would throw her very boring book at the next person who uttered those words. They expected, because she was suddenly thrust into the role of being a lady, that she would become some delicate and fragile thing that needed to be coddled and cared for. Well, that wasn’t her, it had never been her and it would
never be her! The sooner they all realized it the better off the lot of them would be.

  Struggling to get out of the bed, she realized that the walking stick had been moved all the way across the room by the less than helpful doctor. When she’d tumbled to the ground that morning, or rather been tumbled to it by the quick thinking and quicker actions of her betrothed, her ankle had begun to ache again. Still, better a sore ankle than dead.

  Half-limping, half-hobbling toward the walking stick, Lilly had almost reached it when the door opened. She glanced up and found the same maid who’d tended her previously.

  “You’re not supposed to be up, Miss!” Mary cried. “What on earth are you about?”

  “I’m bored out of my mind. I thought I’d go downstairs and spend some time with her grace,” Lilly replied.

  “What? By choice?” the maid asked in horror. Realizing what she’d said, the girl clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. Please don’t tell no one I said it. I’ll be sacked for sure!”

  “Mary, I’m not going to let you be sacked,” Lilly said. “But in very short order, I am likely to require a lady’s maid. Have you ever considered moving up into such a position?”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “I’d love to, Miss, but I’ve no talent for dressing hair. You’d be terribly disappointed with me, I’m sure.”

  “I can dress my own hair. I can dress myself, too. But they’ll draw the line at letting me see to my own clothes,” Lilly said. “I’m being perfectly honest when I say this, Mary. I think there are more things I’ll not be permitted to do as a lady than when I was simply a governess or companion. I detest rules.”

  “And is that why you’re out of bed, Miss? Cause someone said you couldn’t be?” the maid asked knowingly.

  Well, she’d been effectively called out on that score. No point in denying it. “More or less. It’s rather that they’ve insisted I must be so overset by what happened that I need to be cosseted like a fretful infant,” Lilly seethed. “That’s not who I am. And I won’t let them make me into that sort either.”