Dangerous Deceptions (26 page)

“The only trouble my younger son has is what he’s made for himself.” Lord Lynnfield smiled at his own turn of phrase, revealing a mouth full of very black teeth. “And that includes some of your antics, I’ll wager!” This, evidently, was the height of Lynnfield wit, and the withered baron laughed heartily at it, thumping his own walking stick on the floor in time with each guffaw. This angered Guinevere, who had to waddle over and yip imperiously at the cane, presumably commanding it to hold still.

I made myself smile. It was easier than it might have been, because that wheezing laugh told me something important. Lord Lynnfield liked the sound of his own voice. My uncle might be a closed book, and Julius Sandford a cold fish, but Lord Lynnfield could be encouraged to talk, and would probably talk a great deal.

“Unfortunately, Miss Fitzroy was on her way back to the palace,” said Uncle Pierpont. “If you should wish to speak further with her, I understand she is easily had there.”

Lord Lynnfield snorted loudly at this insulting double entendre
.
Fresh anger blossomed, which allowed me to meet my uncle’s hard eyes and return my sunniest smile. “I would be happy to welcome Lord Lynnfield and Mr. Sandford. I’m sure we have a great deal to say to one another. What a pity, Uncle, you do not care for court. We could have so many cozy conversations, all of us together.”

I thought I heard Olivia make a warning sound. I ignored her and kept my attention on my uncle. My statement was a direct challenge, and I knew Uncle Pierpont did not mistake it.

“Some men have business to conduct,” he said. “They may not shirk their duties to their family, unlike maids of honor.”

“And thus I am gently admonished,” I said with a laugh to the Sandfords, both elder and younger. “But my uncle is of course right. I do have a duty to which I must attend.” I swept into another curtsy, a deep and showy one, that caused Guinevere to yip indignantly and circle my impertinent skirts. “I am so sorry that I cannot stay and make your better acquaintance, Lord Lynnfield, Mr. Sandford,” I told them, doing my best to achieve the appropriate levels of gentle regret and merry sparkle. “I will send you a card of invitation to the next drawing room. We can all have a long talk then. Forgive my dropping by unannounced, Uncle. I see that you are busy, and I will show myself out.”

I turned away, the motion of my hems sending Guinevere into a fresh flurry of fluffy outrage. In a motion that was part waddle, part scamper, she hurried to bark at my freshly exposed and much embroidered heels.

“No,” said Mr. Sandford quietly to my back. “You’ll not go quite yet.”

The calm certainty in those words sent goose flesh crawling across the nape of my neck. I had to grope for my indignation a moment before I could turn around with a properly cold expression. “I beg your pardon?”

Julius Sandford stepped toward me and planted his walking stick on the carpet between us. The abruptness of the gesture startled me and attracted Guinevere’s attention. She left off scolding my hems to come to growl at Mr. Sandford’s stick. For once I understood the impulse. Everything about Julius Sandford made me uncomfortable. The alertness of his blue gaze was made strange and cold by the straight line of his mouth. He neither approved nor condemned what he saw, but he saw it all, and perhaps saw through it. Just then, what he saw through was me.

“I understand you ladies of the court are great ones for cards,” Mr. Sandford informed me. “I hope I can claim you for a game of piquet before all’s said and done.”

No!
Every instinct in me screamed the word.
Do not sit at the table with this man. Do not bet against him.
Those same courtier’s instincts, however, made me cast a glance toward my uncle. Uncle Pierpont was holding himself very still, but he’d not been able to properly school his expression. The disgust I read there was palpable, but for once it was not aimed at me. It was all for the smiling, chuckling Lord Lynnfield, with his hands folded on his black stick that exactly matched his son’s, and my uncle’s.

Something tiptoed closer in my mind; something about sticks and blue seals and the vision of Mr. Walpole and his “stirrings” was intruding, as was, for some reason, the smell of beer, but I couldn’t make any sense of it. I was too discomfited by Julius Sandford.

“I take it you yourself are fond of cards, Mr. Sandford?”

“It is one of the chief pursuits of a man’s life,” he replied. “All one needs to know about another person may be learned at the gaming table.”

I had heard such sentiments voiced before. They were generally spoken by people who believed themselves to be unusually expert at all forms of gambling. Mostly, they were wrong.

“I’d be delighted to play piquet with you, Mr. Sandford, should the opportunity present itself.”

“Then I’ll have to make certain it does, and soon.”

I held my cheery smile in place, even as Mr. Sandford shoved Guinevere firmly aside with his cane. Unfortunately, she was not to be deterred and came right back, yipping.

“Olivia, control that creature,” growled Uncle Pierpont.

“Of course. I’m sorry. Naughty thing.” Olivia ducked down to pick her puppy up, but Guinevere had already darted back between us, barking at full force at the unwelcome cane tips and shoe tops. This time, the shove Mr. Sandford gave Guinevere was much closer to a smack against her skull. Olivia gasped, outraged.

And she was not the only one. Guinevere had never been anything but spoiled and indulged, and she found this indignity too much to bear. With a burst of speed I wouldn’t have credited, the little dog lunged forward and sank her needle-sharp teeth into Julius Sandford’s ankle.

Mr. Sandford lashed out with one foot, kicking Guinevere hard in her swollen belly. Guinevere flew back, howling in pain, and slammed against the wall. Julius Sandford raised his walking stick to deliver a fresh blow. Olivia screamed in anguish. She grabbed his arm and gave it a twist, just as Monsieur Janvier had taught her. But Julius was stronger than Olivia. He yanked his hand free and raised his cane high, his face absolutely stone still as he brought it down, not toward Guinevere, but toward Olivia.

It landed with a sharp smack against Uncle Pierpont’s raised hand.

The two men stared at each other, with Uncle Pierpont gripping Julius Sandford’s stick above Olivia’s head. I grabbed Olivia and yanked her out from under that unlikely bridge.

“This is not your house, sir,” said Uncle Pierpont, his voice as hard as iron and just as cold. “Neither is my daughter your property or concern. You will leave here, now.”

He let the cane go, and Julius Sandford drew it back. Guinevere whimpered. It was as well she did so, because the sound distracted Olivia. A moment before she turned to rush toward her beloved dog, I had read murder in my cousin’s eyes.

“Now, now, temper, temper, Julius,” said Lord Lynnfield mildly. “You’re upsettin’ the little gels, ain’t you?”

“You need to maintain better order among your beasts and women, Pierpont,” said Mr. Sandford with an awful casualness. I backed away to stand beside Olivia as she knelt down to cradle Guinevere into her arms. All that while, I kept my eyes on Julius Sandford.

“I would never permit such displays.” Julius Sandford looked right at me as he spoke these words.

Let him,
I told myself.
Let him see I am not afraid.
But I was afraid. Not only did this Sandford have none of his brother’s charm, he had none of Sebastian’s hot blood. Julius’s cruelty was winter cold. Now I knew why his brother wanted so badly to escape.

“All right, my boy.” Lord Lynnfield patted his son’s shoulder, an indulgent gesture that sent a wave of nausea sweeping through me. “You’ve made your point. Let’s leave the little gels alone. We’ve more pressing business.”

“We have no business at all,” said Uncle Pierpont. “You will both leave here.”

“Oh, now, there you’re wrong, Sir Oliver. We’ve plenty of business left. And if you’ll take a moment to think on it, you’ll remember that.” Sebastian’s father smiled, and I saw every bit of Sebastian’s malice in it, but aged, warmed, and strengthened. Lord Lynnfield was enjoying himself. The nausea returned and redoubled. I waited for my uncle to reply with scorn, to order them out again. But he subsided, slowly slouching and turning the anger inward so it showed only in his eyes.

“Get that dog out of here,” he said to Olivia, and to me. “I’ll not have it in this house.”

Guinevere whimpered again. Olivia stood, holding the small creature. All the murder I had glimpsed before had returned to her pale face.

I put my arm around Olivia’s shoulders and turned her away. “Keep quiet, keep quiet,” I whispered urgently in her ear. “We can’t fight this here. Let me get you out.”

Taking her silence as assent, I led Olivia into the dim hallway. Aunt Pierpont had been waiting for us at the foot of the stairs, and she scurried up to us at once. She saw the dog lying listlessly in her daughter’s arms and the look of anguish on Olivia’s face, and pressed her kerchief to her mouth.

“Oh, my dear,” Aunt Pierpont murmured, “I tried to warn you! I tried!”

“She’s alive,” I said. I did not take my arm from Olivia’s shoulders. “But I think she’s hurt.”

Finally, Olivia spoke, her normally lilting voice made thick and rough by fury. “How could he permit this?
How?
”

I looked at Aunt Pierpont. I waited for her to ask what had happened. When she did not, I understood my earlier assessment had been wrong. She had not been waiting for us at the foot of the stairs. She had been listening at the door. She knew exactly what had happened in that room, and she’d done nothing. Nothing at all.

“Do you know, Aunt?” I asked her. “How could he?”

But she did not answer me, not directly, anyway. Instead, she lifted Guinevere out of Olivia’s arms and deposited her in mine.

“You’d best take the dog, Peggy,” said Aunt Pierpont. “Come, Olivia.” She tried to grasp her daughter’s elbow, but Olivia did not even look at her.

“You remember your plan in the garden?”

I nodded. She meant my plan for her to come and stay with me.

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Olivia. “The answer is yes.”

She turned and walked slow and straight-backed away from me and her mother, leaving us to face each other in mutual confusion and disappointment. Guinevere lifted her little head and gave a soft whine of regret. Olivia must not have heard, because she kept walking.

“I’ll have your cloak brought,” said Aunt Pierpont.

“Aunt,” I said, “tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, I will do my best to help you and Olivia. I swear it.”

“Just take the dog away,” said Aunt Pierpont. “There’s nothing else that can be done. Not now.”

TWENTY-FOUR

My velvet cloak was brought. I bundled it about myself and Guinevere and walked out the front door. I did not look back. I did not dare. I had just seen Uncle Oliver defend his daughter and then be quickly overwhelmed by a few brief words. Whatever business existed between him and Lord Lynnfield was not some mundane matter of trade and bills of exchange and a warehouse. Nothing so small could have defeated a man of such iron and unforgiving will as Uncle Pierpont.

I was so occupied with these thoughts that I was halfway down the steps before I noticed that I’d been right about one thing at least. The black coach was waiting in front of my uncle’s home, as it had waited in front of the bank. As before, a half dozen ruffians waited with it, and every single one of those battered, tattered, armed men swiveled his eyes to look at me. This included the driver, who sat on his high board and held the horses’ reins in his grimy hands.

I ducked my head and tried to hurry down the rest of the steps, but I needed both hands to hold Guinevere and so had none free to help manage my hems. I stumbled, hard, first down to the curb and then onto the cobbles.

Some man sniggered. Another pushed himself away from the coach and sauntered toward me, his cudgel cradled in his arms, much the way I cradled Guinevere. I was already turning away, goading my feet to hurry. I heard boot heels picking up their own pace behind me.

SNAP!

The explosion of sound froze me in place and jerked my head up. It had also frozen my would-be pursuer.

It took a moment to see that the coach’s driver had moved. He now held the horsewhip in his right hand, pointed directly at his fellow ruffian. That sound had been him cracking the whip over that man’s head. The implication in his face was plain, though he spoke not a word. I also could not fail to notice that his free hand rested on the pistol at his belt.

I had no idea why this man chose to come to my rescue, but I felt I should not waste this moment he’d bought me. Therefore, to demonstrate my grateful sensibility, I took to my heels and ran.

My mask still dangled from its chain beneath my cloak, and anyone at all might recognize me. I did not dare reach for it, lest I drop Guinevere. I just made as straight a line as I could for the sanctuary of the palace. In time with my stumbling footsteps, Guinevere began an anxious, unsteady whining. I tried to convince myself this was a good sign. Surely, if she could make noise, she could not be too very hurt.

I crossed from the square to the Mall. As broad as that street was, it was full to the brim with all sorts of traffic. I’d completely forgotten it was Friday and therefore the night of the public dining. All manner of people had crammed themselves through the great arched gateway that led to the Color Court to try to gain a place to view their royalty while those august personages slurped soup and devoured roast fowls. The noise of massed humanity, horses, and conveyances was deafening. I could barely hear the bells ringing overhead, let alone tell what hour they signaled.

Not that it mattered. My absence had by now been discovered, and I would be dismissed from my post. Matthew would already be gone, and I faced the very real possibility that the beloved royal lap dog was expiring in my arms. I would have asked what more could possibly go wrong, but I feared that Heaven might answer the question.