Blood for Ink (The Scarlet Plumiere Series #1) (19 page)

“Are you sure you would not prefer to keep it to yourself, whatever it is?”

“I know the identity of The Scarlet Plumiere.”

Now that was a surprise.

After she got her eyes back in her head, she frowned.

“You do?” Best to play innocent. She thought she had been caught before, when Northwick first arrived on her doorstep.

“Yes. I do.”

She sucked on her lips, her teeth—anything to keep from letting the wrong thing escape her mouth.

“Let me rephrase. As you are The Scarlet Plumiere, I would like you to know that I am willing to help you however I can.”

The blow quite literally knocked her against the wing-backed chair.

“You think I—”

“I know.”

“Might I ask what makes you think—”

“You mean, how did I discover it was you?”

She refused to nod. It still might be a trick.

“That second woman, Farrington? You were just trying to cover your tracks, were you not? Her rescue came only weeks after your own.”

He gave her one of his smiles—a very knowing smile.

Perhaps Lord Ashmoore had let it slip. Perhaps, when they had left the dining room, they had argued about how Stanley’s fiancée had insulted The Scarlet Plumiere, who happened to be seated at his other elbow!

“Miss Farrington happened to be a friend of mine, my lord. Her fiancé broke her arm when she refused to allow him liberties the night of their engagement. Her father took umbrage with
her
.”

Stanley leaned forward, no doubt because the music had swelled again, and he did not want to risk having to yell, so she moved forward as well. When his mouth was very near her ear, he whispered, “
Ahah
!”

She straightened. She suddenly understood how Eve must have felt when she realized she had been beguiled by the snake. But in her mind’s eye, the snake was rather blond with a smile he had stolen from an angel.

Stanley held up his hands as if he expected her to attack.

“Now, now. Your secret is safe. I will tell no one.”

“You are mistaken.”

“Come now, Livvy. The game is up.” He grinned at her again, proving his weapon was something against which she could not fight and win.

“Fine. You are correct. But tell me why you will not be sharing my secret with Lord Northwick.

The smile disappeared. He leaned forward again, but she did not fall for it. She could resist him if he was not grinning.

“He needs to learn it on his own. He cannot know that I discovered it before him.”

“His pride is that easily bruised?” She did not believe it.

“Do you know what happened to him in France?”

“Only that he was kidnapped. Possibly tortured.”

“All our lives, it has been North who pulled our fat from the fire. North who came to
our
rescue. He has saved Ashmoore’s life half a dozen times. But he does not seem to remember that. He only remembers that we had to save him in France. If he fails to find you, and any of us succeeds, he will just see it as another rescue.”

It was easily believed, especially after the way he had placed her in Ashmoore’s keeping. He really did not believe himself worthy to protect her. Her heart broke for him, but she could not allow it to sway her.

“You will have to be very good at keeping your secret then,
Viscount F
. Because I will not allow him to find me. I cannot allow him to find me. If one young woman ends up terrorized by her husband, it will be my fault if I could have stopped it.”

“I understand why you do it. Well, most of it anyway.”

“You do?

“I do.” Dear heavens! That smile again!

If Ashmoore was the King of Spades, surely Stanley was the King of Hearts.

“May I ask what gave me away?”

“Honestly? It was that penitent look in your eye when you realized—for the first time, it seems—that you had been wrong about me. Along with my deductive reasoning, of course.”

“Women should be warned about you.”

“Really? Why?”

“Your smile should never be trusted.” And now that it had returned, she wished to escape the room as quickly as possible. She stood and he did not try to stop her.

“That, my dear Plumiere, has always been true.”

She was still standing before him. “I suppose I may say it now, then.”

“What is that?”

She leaned close, as if to say
ahah,
but instead whispered, “Forgive me.”

Stanley shook his head. “Not your sin, my dear.”

“But my mistake for taking Ursula’s word on the matter.”

“Forgiven. And do you forgive my little deception?” He gestured around the room.

“Forgiven.”

They stepped out of the study to find North running toward them. “What the devil, Stanley?”

“The devil indeed,” she said, then winked at the viscount.

Northwick growled. She was quite growing fond of the sound and tried to commit it to memory.

“I would like a word with Miss Reynolds, if I might.” He was a bit out of breath.

“Absolutely not. Our discussion was concluded at Madame Bouchard’s the other morning.” She stepped around him.

“I would like to discuss something else with you.” He walked sideways to hold her attention.

“I am sorry, but Miss Reynolds is in my keeping tonight, and I forbid anyone to have a private word with her.” Ashmoore stood with hands on hips in the middle of the foyer, blocking everyone’s progress.

Livvy did not like the sound of that. Big brother was overstepping a bit.

“Wait just a moment, Lord Ashmoore.” She stopped at the sound of more running feet.

Harcourt hurried up behind Ashmoore and tapped him on the shoulder. “Now see here. I am not going to be told to wait alone in the study like some child waiting for his punishment.”

An ungodly whistle shrieked through the corridor.

The music stopped.

The mob turned toward the doors of the drawing room where the duchess stood holding two fingers in her mouth. Anna’s hands covered her ears, but she slowly lowered them while eyeing the duchess suspiciously.

“Northwick, it is no wonder why I have a headache. I would like you to see me home. Olivia? I will take a kiss on the cheek from you. Ashmoore, return Olivia to her father. Harcourt, stop whining and see to your sister. Stanley? God bless you but you have got to teach Miss Goodfellow the meaning of the word
pianissimo
before she is allowed to touch an instrument again.”

Everyone jumped to do the woman’s bidding. At least Livvy was afraid to hear that whistle again. No doubt it had come in handy while trying to raise four boys, three of which had not been her own.

“Goodnight, Auntie Winnie.” Livvy kissed the proffered fuzzy cheek and could not resist adding a brief hug. Ashmoore herded her toward the door, but she turned back to look for Stanley. Instead, her eyes locked with Northwick’s. Time stilled. Stopped.

She could have stood there forever, just staring, sharing a dozen thoughts and none at all. She would remember forever the look on his face. Regret. Frustration. Passion? They were a dozen paces apart with nothing but silence between them. No one moved. No one breathed.

No one moved? Dear heavens. The entire party had witnessed the exchange.

She turned and fled out the door. Thankfully, someone had already opened it.

North was up early, pacing his foyer.

He had not slept well. Callister stood with his back to the front door holding a plate of sausage rolls as if waiting to offer them to anyone who happened by the house and knocked upon the door. North knew the man was not going to allow him to leave without eating first. How he was going to appease the man was a concern, since he felt like he was about to lose the breakfast he had eaten the day before.

Little did Callister know, it was not his innocent blocking of the door, nor the threat of shoving breakfast down his employer’s throat that kept North from leaving. It was his own indecision.

He was determined to go to Livvy’s home that very morning, push Ashmoore and Ashmoore’s men aside, and demand the chance to speak with the woman alone. He would tell her he already knew she was The Scarlet Plumiere, that he was going to woo and win her even if, by some wild coincidence she was not the real SP. He would call out any man that threatened her...and have Ashmoore kill the man.

“Ahhhh!”

Of course he could do no such thing. He had no protection to offer her but his friend. How could he declare himself and admit he was not enough for her, and still expect to win her hand? Impossible!

On the other hand, the charade had to stop. He could not just stand by and allow Ash to make a place for himself in her heart. It was too unfair to expect him to keep silent.

He headed for the door again. Callister raised the plate. He took a roll and stared the man down, unblinking, while he sank his teeth into it.

Nothing for it. He would have to bare his soul and deal with consequences as they arose.

There. He felt much better. Callister looked terribly pleased with himself and stepped out of his way. North pushed the rest of the roll into his mouth, brushed his fingers together and reached for the door, ready to take on the Earl of Ashmoore himself.

Only the Earl was headed up his steps that very minute.

“What the blazes?” It sounded quite different spoken around the food in his mouth. He swallowed while his friend pushed past him into the house and closed the door. "Why are you not at Telford’s?”

“I have five men there. She is safe. For now.”

At the tone of Ash’s statement, the sausage roll tried to come back up. Callister handed him a glass of something and he drank it down, not tasting it until it was too late.

Milk. He hated milk.

“What is it?”

“Harcourt and Stan should be here any moment.”

“Ash. Please. Do not make me wait. I’ll go mad.”

“Very well. Gordon has returned.”

“To London?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Then we will just have to—”

“No.
We
will do nothing. He will already have someone watching you—and closely. You are probably the only lead he has.”

Realization dawned. He could not be seen anywhere near Livvy. Gordon would not be returning if he didn’t hope to find the Plumiere and punish her. And if North stopped searching for her, the other lord would assume he had already found her. Those watching him would already know he’d spent time with her. It was more important than ever that he stay away.

“I see you understand well enough.”

“I will go mad if I do not see her, Ash.” He grabbed his friend’s arms.

“I know you will. But you are a danger to her now. Remember that.”

Callister opened the door as Harcourt and Stanley reached the top step. A few minutes later they had taken up their places in the library. Callister left to order tea.

“Tea?” Stanley looked at the spot in which the butler had been standing. "Did he say,
tea
?” The man had learned to distrust the African chair and had claimed a spot on the couch. Harcourt took his turn on the uncomfortable seat.

“Yes, Stanley. We need our wits old boy. Gordon might have been in the city for days now, depending on the route chosen.” Harcourt spared a glance at the brandy decanter, then looked away.

“What next for us then?” Stan was looking at Ashmoore.

“North?” Ash asked innocently—too innocently.

“Oh, no you don’t. I am the one who created this mess. I cannot be trusted to get us out. My mind is a little clouded at the moment. I cannot be impartial.”

“You do not have to be impartial. Sometimes a little emotional involvement makes the difference.” Ash stood and walked to the window. “After all, if it weren’t for our emotional involvement, we would have never hung about that last night in France, getting drunk off our arses.”

North shook his head. “I must have slept through that.”

Ashmoore glanced at Harcourt and Stanley, rather dramatically in fact, then looked him in the eye.

“There is something you need to know.”

Harcourt jumped to his feet and hurried to face Ashmoore, toe to toe.

“This is not the time, surely,” he said quietly. But the room was not so big as to swallow the sound. Stanley dropped his head in his hands and groaned.

Ash put a hand on Harcourt’s shoulder. “I think the right time was years ago, old boy.”

Harcourt shrugged out of Ash’s grasp and moved to the other side of the room. “Shaking his faith in us won’t help the situation,” he said.

“I assume I am the
he
to whom you refer,” North said, though he’d just as soon walk out the door and not learn whatever secrets they had seen fit to keep from him for years. In spite of the stone weighing heavily in his stomach, he forged on. “Too late to change your mind now. Let’s hear it then.”

Ashmoore began pacing. That stone got heavier each time his friend completed a circuit. “Try to remember that you made me vow not to speak of France.”

“I never forget that.”

“Good. Then you will understand why we did not discuss this with you before now. You wanted to forget it all. We only wanted to grant you that wish.”

“Not the only reason, of course.” Stanley mumbled.

“Quite right, Stan. I beg your pardon.”

Harcourt spun about and pointed an accusatory finger. “Look here. You have told everyone how heroic we were, to go back for you, to rescue you. You thought we were heroes. It is hard to let someone down who thinks of you as a hero.”

He looked at Ash. “I can understand that. You all thought I was terribly heroic for taking Ash’s place in the lottery. I hated to tell you otherwise.”

“Exactly.” Harcourt smiled. “So you will understand why we did not want to tell you—”

“We aren’t the heroes you believed us to be.” Stanley sounded terribly ashamed. He kept his head down, his hair hanging over his face like a white curtain.

“You saved me. I was there, remember? You never gave up. You found me, after all that time.”

“That’s where you are wrong, my friend.” Ashmoore stopped pacing and backed up to the wall. He dropped his chin to his chest. “We had given up.”

“Then you just happened to break into an armed fortress and check the dungeon for pirate’s gold but found me instead?”

Stanley sat back, but looked at his knees. “We were not far away, actually. We had come terribly close and we did not realize it.”

“We were distraught.” Harcourt was looking down again.

“We were drunk,” Ashmoore barked. “We were never going to find you and we were drowning ourselves in every available drop of liquor in the province.”

“And then? This cannot be the end of the story. Ash?”

His dark friend moved to the fire and leaned his body against a pillar. His face lit up red and yellow as he watched the flames. When it came, his voice was little more than a whisper.

“A woman came to me that night, chiding me for coming so close only to give up.”

“A woman. The Scottish woman you speak of? The one I never seem to remember seeing you with?”

“Yes. That woman. She told us where to find you, gave us details.”

“It could have been a trap.”

“We would have gone anyway.”

“I know you would have. So what is this dire confession? Did you somehow decide not to find me, even after you’d been given these directions?”

“Very nearly. We were too drunk to remember, but luckily, the masked woman—”

“Masked? You never mentioned a mask before.”

“Well, how could I? You would have wanted to know every detail.”

North nodded. “True. So this is your sin? Please tell me this has not plagued the lot of you for years.”

Harcourt lunged forward. “Stop it, North. Will you stop it? You are painting us as heroes again. But we were only very lucky friends. That is all. Providence shined on you. The woman saved you. We did not.”

Only two years ago, he would have thought Providence and God had forgotten him, so he’d felt no contrition for taking his revenge on that nest of French vipers. Neither had Ashmoore. But every night he could not stop the memory of each man he’d executed, saw each face. Dear God!

“She wasn’t...” He turned to Ash, unable to voice the question.

“No. She was not there. I killed just the one woman, defending myself. You?”

He searched the horrid memory, shocked that he would willingly do so. None of the blood on his hands or soaking his feet, had been from a woman.

“Not unless one had shorn her hair and dressed as a man,” he said.

“Not this woman. Black hair. Green eyes. Too beautiful to ever pass as a man.”

“Then, no.”

Ashmoore moved to the couch and dropped onto it.

“You are forgiven for not telling me sooner. But I see you as no less my rescuers. You were there, available for the telling.”

“We were too drunk to leave the country,” groaned Harcourt.

“Well, I will drink to that.”

“North, do not treat this as if it is nothing,” Stanley whispered. “We gave up.”

“Stanley, Harcourt, Ash. I forgive you for it. Now forgive yourselves, for pity sake.” He frowned at Ashmoore. “Why tell me now?”

“I did not want you to have too much faith in us. You believe we are more capable than you to guard Olivia. You are wrong. And if something happens to her, it would be best if you know ahead of time that we are not infallible.”

North finally understood what all this had to do with Livvy. They were correct—he’d thanked God every day for his friends, that they would be able to rescue her from any foe. And although it relieved his conscience a bit to suppose he might be worthy to walk among his rescuers, it also chilled the blood in his veins. Livvy was in more danger now, than she had been an hour ago, at least in his muddled mind.

“So, what do
we
do for Livvy?”

Ash leaned on his knees. "Think like Lord Gordon, I suppose. What would you do?”

“There would be no avoiding his being recognized,” Stanley offered.

“Right. So he could not just slip into town with a sack over his head.” Ash nodded. “Good. What else?”

“Knowing Gordon, he will throw a party,” said Harcourt with a sneer.

“If he does, at least we will know where he is,” Ash said.

North filled his lungs and let the breath out slowly. “It would not surprise me should the monster send us all invitations.”

“The
ton
will be his alibi.” Harcourt’s frown fell away and his usual enthusiasm attempted to return.

Stanley still looked concerned. "Brilliant. But is
Gordon
that clever?”

“Absolutely,” said Ash.

“So we watch for his first public display,” Harcourt suggested.

“And we act as if he has already made it.” Ash was back on his feet. “There is one other thing. Gordon will not make good any threat against Olivia if The Plumiere is still in play. He will go after the writer first.”

“Even so, day and night, Olivia and her father cannot be left alone.” North feared his friend was looking for a break from his watch.

“I have enough men already at Telford’s. No need for the three of you to bring more attention to the place by coming and going.”

“No, of course not.” Harcourt frowned. "We will just have to keep busy, beating the bushes for The Plumiere, making him believe we have not found her yet.”

North bit his lip. Should he tell them? Should he not? Perhaps his friends would be better able to play their parts if they were not told who The Plumiere actually was. For the moment, unless the situation changed, he would keep Livvy’s secret.

Callister returned with four teacups on a tray and passed them around. North took a sip and choked.

“Whiskey, with a shot of tea, my lord.”

“Thank you, Callister.” He had to clear his throat to get his full voice back. "I believe we should pay closer attention to Lady Malbury’s azaleas,” he suggested.

Harcourt moaned for some reason.

“I wonder, though,” said Stanley. "Would it be better for The Plumiere if we did not find her? Would she be safer? Should not North wave the white flag? Let her go?”

“North?” Ashmoore handed the decision to him yet again.