Elizabeth Boyle (31 page)

He dropped to his knees beside her. “He did hit you. How bad is it?”

“Whatever do you mean? I wasn’t hit. As I said in the dining room, I was arranging flowers when—”

Giles shook his head. “Stop the act. I know who you are.”

He had to admit that behind the fashionable clothing, the elaborate headdress, the feathers, and the copious amounts of lace, he might have been deceived once again, but this close to the lady it was impossible not to know her. The sapphire eyes, the curve of her chin, the glorious hair.

Why hadn’t he seen all this before and recognized her deception earlier? The timid, mousy Lady Sophia he’d met in London was nothing like this styled, accomplished woman before him. It seemed she had a persona for every occasion.

He reached over and pushed back the feathers dipping into her face. “You’ve pulled quite a feat, haven’t you, Lady Brazen?”

She tipped her head and stared at him. “Are you well, my lord?” She laid her hand on his brow. “I’m your betrothed, Lady Sophia. Don’t you remember me?”

“And here I was starting to wonder if there even was a Lady Sophia.”

Her brow furrowed. “Who else could I be but your betrothed?”

She really had some nerve playing the innocent miss, and he was of no mind to continue her ruse any further. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the signet ring the Brazen Angel had lost in Paris. “Does this look familiar?”

Her hand trembled as he placed the ring into the warmth of her palm, but her face never betrayed her.

Her lips pursed in concentration. “I’m supposed to know this?”

“You should; it’s your family’s crest.”

She looked away, as if trying to find some plausible excuse, some other deception with which to continue.

“There is also this,” he added, pulling the scrap of fabric from the Brazen Angel’s dress he’d retrieved from the carriage wheel the night of the Parkers’ masked ball. “Odd coincidence how they match, isn’t it? Now, do you start telling me how badly you were shot, or do I go in and ask your aunt to unwrap these coverings?”

She tried to scramble up to her feet. “Why, you—” She stopped halfway.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he said, shaking his finger at her. “We’re being watched.”

He pointed over her shoulder to where Lady Whitcombe, Lady Fisher, and Dorlissa stood, their noses pressed against the panes of the connecting French doors. When the snooping threesome realized they’d been caught, they backed away, leaving only a trio of small smudges on the windows.

Sophia muttered something in French, the translation of which made him cringe. She straightened to her feet and started down the gallery toward the orangery in long, impatient strides.

“Are you coming along or not?” she asked over her shoulder.

Giles followed, taking his time. He wondered if he’d ever see the real Sophia—for she played each role with the skill of an accomplished actress—or would life with this woman be a never-ending drama?

“Isn’t this putting your reputation at risk, my lady? I mean, running away so quickly to be alone with me. Where are the protests for your virtue?” he asked, finally catching up with her as she mounted the marble stairs to the glass-enclosed orangery Lord Larkhall had built thirty years earlier. Lamps burned at the entrance way, a tradition that Lord Larkhall had begun when he finished his glass-enclosed marvel and that his widow continued to this day. “Your virtue and honor mean far more to me than I can express,” he teased.

“As Lady Fischer would say, pish and nonsense,” she shot back, crossing the small open-air room and settling down primly on one of the stone benches. “You weren’t too concerned about my virtue before.”

He laughed. “Neither were you.”

His words brought her back to her feet. “Oh, you—”

“I don’t know what you’re so aggrieved about—you act like I stole your virtue.” Come to think of it, he realized, the woman he’d been with in Paris had hardly been a virgin, which meant that Lady Sophia . . . He looked at his bride-to-be again. “Speaking of virtue . . .”

Her cheeks turned crimson, as if she’d followed his silent reasoning. “That is none of your business,” she snapped.

“Some men would disagree, but I’m not of a mind to debate that point tonight.” He paused. “I think we have more immediate concerns to consider. Like whether or not you are carrying my heir.”

Her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “I’d sooner—”

“You’d sooner what?” he interrupted. “Take it all back? If only it were so easy.”

“Everything would be much easier if you would return to London and leave me be.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Then no, I am not. Will you leave now?”

He settled down on the bench and stretched his legs in front of him. She frowned at his action and took a seat on the opposite bench.

“You heard me at dinner,” he said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. Not until we are married.”

“Why are you persisting in this marriage? ‘T’would be ruinous for both of us.” Sophia folded her arms over her chest.

“I don’t think so. I find we suit.”

“Well, I disagree.”

Giles threw his hands in the air. “I’ll never understand you.”

At this, she smiled. “Would you want to? I thought you rather liked the mystery.”

She had a point, and it bothered him. The mystery of the Brazen Angel had possessed his mind, and now he had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t enough to know who the woman beneath the mask was—he wanted to know everything about her. And he wanted to spend the rest of his life exploring those secrets.

He didn’t understand how she could possess him so completely, unable to put a name on the emotions she stirred.

She rose from the bench, letting her shawl slide over one shoulder. She held the other end up in front of her face and continued to wrap it like a harem slave’s mask around her face. By the time she finished, all he could see were her eyes. Slowly, she approached him. “Is this what you wanted, the lady of the night?”

“‘Tis a dangerous game you play.” He met her in the middle of the room. “Choose carefully who you are. Act like Lady Sophia and I’ll treat you as such.” He moved even closer, until he caught her in his arms. Tossing aside Dorlissa’s wrap, he pulled her into his embrace. “Act like the Brazen Angel, and you’ll go back into that house in a state of such
dishabille
, Lady Fischer will be booked for the next three Seasons at every London gathering, one and all anxious to hear her tale.” He brushed back a stray lock of her chestnut hair and looked directly into her eyes. “What will it be, my Lady Brazen?”

“Sssh,” she warned, though she didn’t struggle against his embrace. “You shouldn’t call me that. What if someone heard you? They’d have that pimpled parson out here and we’d find ourselves married before midnight, if only to save my reputation.”

“And would that be so bad?”

She took a deep breath, as if to launch into another argument. Instead, she let out a long sigh and stared at the marble floor. “I don’t know anymore.”

He realized it was probably the most honest admission she’d ever made to him. “Then let me decide, for I never want to face another sleepless night not knowing if you’ve been hurt or worse. When I arrived at Selmar’s and saw the blood, I could only imagine—”

Her gaze shot up. “You were there?”

“Of course I was. When will you realize? Wherever you go, I am destined to follow.” Giles brushed at a stray curl of her hair. Dammit, he should be furious with her for the risks she’d taken, for the deception she’d pulled.

But holding her in his arms, knowing she was alive, the only thing he felt was relief. “I’ve been trying to find you for weeks. Monty saw you leaving that gaming hell, and we followed you to Selmar’s. I’ve been out of my mind since I saw that room, the blood in the hallway. I didn’t know where you’d gone or how badly you’d been hurt. I only hoped Oliver retrieved you in time.”

“I’m sorry you were worried.” She held up her injured hand. “Truly, it isn’t so bad. Selmar, for all his bluff and foul reputation, is a miserable shot.”

Sophia couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty that Giles had been worried about her. And over an arrogant nitwit like Selmar; really, the man was too much.

He shook his head. “Whatever were you doing to get yourself shot at?”

“What do you think I was doing? I was robbing him.”

He groaned and set her out at arm’s length. “How did you plan on accomplishing this? Remember, I know how your little scheme works, and Selmar doesn’t imbibe.”

“A fact I found out a little too late,” she shot back. “It was touch and go after I realized I was going to have to rob a fully conscious man. But, really, you could say he handed me my prize, and who was I to say no?”

“Out with it,” he ordered. “I want to hear everything.”

So she explained about the sword and how Selmar bragged about having it stolen from the rightful owners. “He’s pilfered most of his possessions.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head. “At least I don’t rob innocents.”

“Unlike the duke?”

She pursed her lips. “He was an exception. I didn’t want to steal from him, but he cut off my intended mark.”

“Who was?”

Sophia laughed at this. “Some things a lady doesn’t disclose.” As if she had any intention of revealing that bit of priceless information. Besides, the man in question had just arrived in Bath to take the waters, and Sophia knew the time had come to pay him a little visit. “Suffice it to say, I carried away only what I thought the duke could spare. The Stanton jewelry is famous and priceless, so you should be proud that I took only his coins.”

“Such nobility,” Giles scoffed.

“I have my standards.”

“Standards that are now at an end, as your misadventure at Lord Selmar’s should have taught you.”

She didn’t like the direction of this. It was starting to sound like another one of his lectures on caution and care. Didn’t he understand that the time for caution was well past? The news out of Paris spoke only of the horrifying rise in executions, and her parents were still unaccounted for.

“You promised to contact me,” he continued. “I’ve had runners searching everywhere. Did you think I would just give up and forget?”

“It would be better for you if you had.”

“Well, it’s too late for that now. I’ve found you.”

Now Sophia definitely knew she didn’t like the course of this conversation. Hadn’t he all but said he would follow her to the ends of the earth? It was worse than she thought. Since the death of the old man, she’d awakened each night in the throes of the nightmare where Giles was led to the scaffold. And after she’d convince herself it was only a dream and return to sleep, her sleep was filled with images of him being cut down by rabid groups of
sans-culottes
, their long, wicked pikes tearing and ripping his flesh.

His days of following her were over. She must put an end to them now.

He stopped for a minute and studied her. “You intend to go back there,” he said aloud as the realization struck him.

Damn, she hated him for his keen insight.

“You had no intention of coming to me for help,” he continued, his mouth tightening with anger. “You were going to gather another fortune and disappear again. And soon, if that failed robbery of Selmar was any indication.”

That brought her gaze up, and she studied him. He didn’t realize she’d been successful that night, that she’d carried off Selmar’s prized pirate sword along with a small cask of jewels and several jeweled daggers. Or that she knew a buyer in Paris who would readily buy the lot. “Whatever do you mean? Return to Paris with a warrant on my head? I’d have to be insane.”

He caught her by the shoulders and gave a gentle shake. “As insane as robbing Selmar? He could have killed you.”

“But he didn’t. He missed.” She grinned at him. “Missed by at least a good foot or two on the first round. By the second one I was well out of range.” Sophia laughed a little, hoping to tease him out of his indignant concern.

“Then how do you explain this?” he asked, holding up her hand.

She shrugged her shoulders. “A piece of paneling caught me when his shot hit the wall. Emma fixed it up with one of her potions.”

He released her, his arms crossing over his chest. “I won’t stand for this. I forbid you to continue this dangerous charade.”

“You forbid me?” she repeated. “You have no rights over me.”

“I will once we are wed. Believe me, if you thought I was joking over dinner about hiding you away, tomorrow I will order extra locks installed at Byrnewood and all the ivy trimmed from the outer walls. You’ll stay bolted in the fourth-story tower until you are so heavy with child the stairs will be a challenge.”

She backed away. Her voice lowered to an angry whisper. “What would you have me do? Stay here? Marry you while my parents are murdered? I cannot. I will not.”

“I promised you in Paris I would see your family to safety.” He paced once or twice in front of her, then stopped. “I have every intention of bringing them here to England. I’ve already started inquiries as to where they are being held.”

Catching his hand, she tugged at it. “Have you found anything?”

He paused for a second too long. “No.”

Something about the catch in his voice told her he was lying. But she knew there was nothing she could do to convince him to share his information. If he told her anything, they both knew she would be on the next ship across the Channel. And without him.

“This isn’t your problem,” she said, so softly that at first he barely heard the words. “I will not ask you to risk your life any further. Have you forgotten the warrant for
your
arrest?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the next words out loud.
Or have you forgotten what I let happen to that poor old man?
No, she couldn’t allow that to happen to Giles, not even if it meant she had to turn her back on him, spurn him to get him to forget her.

“Have you forgotten the warrant for La Devinette?”

“No one will ever see her again.”

And would he see her again if she went to Paris without him? Giles didn’t want to consider the notion.