Lady in the Stray (17 page)

This gloomy utterance caused Lord Stirling to transfer his own attention from their surroundings to his companion; the Vashti Beaufils he had known those several years ago had never regarded an attractive female with other than deep dislike. Minette was definitely an attractive female, if not to his own taste. “I don’t know what you may hope to do about it, like the match or not. The fellow is Minette’s own kinsman. I know nothing specific against him—”

“Nor do I,” Vashti interrupted. “Save that he puts me strongly in mind of a—a snake!”

“Well said.” Yves grinned. “There
is
something distinctly slimy about our Edouard. However, I daresay he cannot help it, any more than you can help the way you look. No, my darling, I do not mean to infer that you are slimy or unpleasant to look upon. Quite the opposite! You are an uncommonly lovely woman. But I have noticed that you don’t enjoy being stared at, which I might add is a highly unusual characteristic in a member of your sex.”

Vashti was not unaware that they had attracted a degree of notice; it had been so throughout their progress along Oxford Street, High Holborn and Cheapside. “It is your carriage that people are staring at!” she protested. “Not me.”

“Moonshine!” Lord Stirling retorted genially. “You are even lovelier when you blush. Since you don’t like my compliments, I will spare you further. Minette’s circumstances are not such that she can hold out for a better match—if it’s marriage that she wants.”

This frank comment caused Vashti’s cheeks to grow even more pink. Conversation with Lord Stirling was nothing if not perilous; there was no anticipating what outrageous thing he might next say. “I’m afraid I cannot place as much importance on Minette’s circumstances as you seem to do,” she replied ruefully. “My own have been nothing to brag upon for a number of years.”

“Ah, yes, Aunt Adder.” Among others, Lord Stirling had been speaking to young Charlot, whose chief contribution to his lordship’s fund of knowledge had been the intelligence that Yves too would be a trifle pudding-hearted if Aunt Adder had been ringing peals over
him
for years. “You certainly have more that your share of dirty linen, my pet. I refer to your family, of course. All of us have some unfortunate connections, but you seem to have rather more than most, including both your Aunt Adder and the enterprising Marmaduke. But I forget my promise to reacquaint you with the Metropolis. Ahead of us, my love, is the Mansion House.”

Obediently, Vashti gazed in the direction indicated by her self-appointed guide, and observed a substantial structure fashioned of Portland stone, with a portico of six columns of the Corinthian order in the front and pilasters of the same order under the pediment and on each side. However, she was considerably more interested in her companion. Vashti cast him a quizzical glance. “I don’t wish to quibble over details,” she apologized, “but why are you calling me—” She flushed.

“My love, my darling, and so forth?” Lord Stirling , helpfully supplied. “I will call you ‘Vashti’ in public, or ‘Mademoiselle Beaufils’; but to do so in private conversation goes too much against the grain.”

Still, she regarded him blankly. “Why is that?”

Lord Stirling’s smile lacked humor. “Because I know that you are
not!
Now, what was I saying? Ah yes, the Mansion House. It was erected for the use of the chief magistrates of the city, as you doubtless know. There, at the farthest end, is the Egyptian Hall, designed for public entertainments. The rooms inside are very noble and elegantly furnished but, because of the houses crowding in on each side, very dark.”

Vashti lowered her gaze to her gloved hands. “Oh,” she said.

Not surprisingly, in the wake of this unenthusiastic utterance, conversation lapsed. What a little ninnyhammer she was, thought Vashti; she had so enjoyed this brief respite from the brooding atmosphere of Mountjoy House that she had quite forgot her companion thought her the worst sort of adventuress. She should have known that other than a desire for her company had prompted Stirling’s invitation to drive out with him, but she had so much enjoyed the drive in his high perch phaeton—which despite his lordship’s casual dismissal of its attractions was very fine, the body covered by handsome decorations and suspended by an amazing number of springs, some of which reached as far as the bottom braces— that she had relaxed her guard.

It was what he had intended, of course. Vashti glanced up at her companion, who this day sported a drab Benjamin and tightly fitting coat of superfine; yellow buckskins and glossy boots and a curly-brimmed beaver hat. He also wore an expression that was definitely grim.

He turned his head and caught her glance. “Your reservations aren’t unfounded,” Yves said abruptly. “In my opinion, it’s a devilish ugly customer.”

Vashti frowned.
“What
is, sir—or who?”

“Who the devil do you think?” His lordship’s tone was short. “We were talking about Edouard.”

“Ah!” Sweetly, Vashti smiled. “How foolish of me. I thought you were referring to yourself.”

“To—” Yves laughed.
“Touché,
my little hornet. There are doubtless those who would agree with you—but I mean you no harm, as you must realize.”

Did he not? Vashti had not forgotten—or at least, not for many moments at a time—Charlot’s contention that his lordship might know a secret entry to Mountjoy House, might consequently have been the source of her assault. Though every instinct shrieked that this man would not behave in so underhanded a manner, Vashti dared not dismiss the possibility.

What basis had she for assuming Yves Santander was no blackguard, other than the heady effects of his embrace—an embrace she had not felt since she cracked her head? Almost the mishap had been worth its aftermath, she reflected wryly; so lost in infatuation was Vashti that she would willingly have endured another assault, if only Lord Stirling would kiss her again.

At all costs, his lordship must not discover the depths of her folly, lest he use it against her. Had he wished to kiss her for her own sake, he would have done so on any of his numerous visits to Mountjoy House. Having discovered that kissing Vashti had not inspired her to part with the information that he sought, he had lost interest. And even had he not, Vashti need not worry that he would repeat his offense in an open carriage. She sighed.

That sigh roused Lord Stirling from contemplation of his own various follies, chief among them his desire to repeatedly kiss a young lady who would not even trust him with her name. He studied her. She looked so innocent in her carriage dress of corded muslin, worn with a lilac shawl, and a lilac bonnet trimmed with a wreath of laurel and two white feathers and tied with a large ribbon bow. She also looked heart-achingly lovely, and more than a little downcast.

“I wish I were well out of this business!” he said roughly, thereby earning a startled glance. “It does us no good to say we will cry pax, does it? Invariably, we are brought back to memorandums and treasures and Mountjoy House. That affair must be settled before we may think of anything else.”

Once more the blood rose in Vashti’s cheeks. “What else might we have to discuss, sir?”

Because he wished nothing more than to immediately demonstrate what other matters might lie between them, Yves’s own voice was harsh. “Don’t come the pudding-head with me, my girl; whatever else you may be, you are not that! Which brings to mind—did you know Edouard has been asking some very pointed questions about whether or not Mountjoy House is haunted? It would appear you are not the only one who has seen a ghost.”

“Gracious God!” Vashti had temporarily forgotten the raddled denizen of the secret room. “When did
he
see her, I wonder? Could it have been the same night?”

“If so, he is not apt to admit it, since to do so would place him at the scene of your mishap. Yes, my dear, I do think it likely that someone assaulted you. You would have had to fall in a very odd manner to strike yourself at that particular angle.”

Vashti’s amber eyes opened wide. “But you said—”

“There is no need to go on about it; I know what I said. I was in a bit of a temper, as I recall.” Lord Stirling cocked an ironic brow. “You
do
have that effect on me, as you may have noticed.”

“I have, rather.” Vashti smiled. “Oh, but it is difficult to know what to do! Everyone seems to want either Marmaduke’s treasure or the memorandum— you, Edouard, Minette, and heaven knows who else! Mr. Heath I must acquit of any avarice, but his judgment is hardly impartial; unless I very much mistake the matter, he is besotted with Minette. Nor would I have thought her indifferent, a few days past. It is all such a dreadful muddle! If only Papa were here to tell me what to do—and the way things are progressing, I shall never be able to return to France and discover what has become of him.”

“It is as well, perhaps.” Yves was feeling a trifle cross, result of having just been accused of avarice. His irritability was not lessened by his companion’s ability to sound sincere. “Cut line, my girl! The Comte Defontaine would not be overjoyed to discover his offspring have been living in a gaming hell, even if you
were
his offspring, which we have already established you are not!”

Vashti did not care for this tone of voice, nor was she wishful of being berated by his lordship in the middle of a busy street. “You have established it, you mean! I do not know how I am to persuade you you are wrong.”

 “You might do so easily enough, by acquainting me with the truth. But I begin to think the truth is beyond you, Mademoiselle Whatever-your-name-is. You may only blame yourself if I’m forever out of temper with you, you know. And pray spare me another of your Banbury tales.”

“I have not
told
you any Banbury tales!” Vashti frowned in an attempt to remember. “At least, I think I have not. At any event, it’s true enough that I am the daughter of the Comte Defontaine. Do you seriously think I could have passed myself off as Vashti Beaufils to Mr. Heath, were I not she—to say nothing of my Aunt Adder! I am not so good a dissembler as all that.”

“On the contrary, if what you say is indeed the truth, then you are a dissembler
par excellence.”
There was no admiration in Lord Stirling’s chill glance. “I suppose now you’ll tell me that you remember
me
very well. Spare yourself the effort! I’m not so easily bamboozled, and you’ve already destroyed your veracity by claiming to recall an expedition to Vauxhall that never, in fact, took place. As for the solicitor and your supposed aunt— you are to be felicitated on your cleverness.”

Clearly, Vashti had not altogether recovered from her mishap; her head had again begun to ache. She pressed her fingers to her temples. “If you would cease to browbeat me, I might be able to explain.”

Lord Stirling was not encouraging. “You may try.”
He wouldn’t believe her, Vashti knew, but still she must attempt to convince him that she was not the scheming creature she appeared. Indeed, Lord Stirling was a more likely candidate for the role of conniver than she. “You think I am an impostor; I can only tell you that I am not. My name is truly Vashti Defontaine, and I am the daughter of the Comte Defontaine.”

“And I am King George!” his lordship interrupted unkindly. “Doubtless I’m a cad to point it out, but we’ve had this conversation before.”

“I don’t know
what
you are, sir,” Vashti retorted, “but pray do me the honor of hearing me out! The young lady with whom you were previously acquainted wasn’t me! Her name was Valérie, and she is a family connection, to my everlasting regret! You don’t believe me, I can tell it, and if ever I see Valérie again, I think that I shall murder her, because it is just like her to serve me an ill turn. Not that it is likely I
shall
see her, because on last report she was cutting quite a dash in Paris with one or another of Napoleon’s generals. Although she is well served for her conniving in this instance, because it’s my guess that Cousin Marmaduke meant to leave his estate to her, and not to me. It’s the only sense I can make of this business, because I never met the man.”

Definitely this young woman, whoever she was, possessed a distinct dramatic flair. Almost Yves believed her. “What a farrago of nonsense!” he said, with mock admiration, his own gullibility rendering him further out of sorts. “How many times must I tell you that I’m not a pigeon for your plucking? I ought to let you drown in your own damnable intrigues.”

Although she hadn’t really expected to convince him, Vashti was disappointed that she had failed. It would be nice to have Lord Stirling as an ally, brute and bully that he often was.

Belatedly, Vashti recalled that his lordship had expressed interest in both Marmaduke’s treasure and the missing memorandum, and added treachery to her rapidly expanding list of his sins. Then she flushed, appalled to discover that even were Yves Santander the greatest brute in all existence, she would want him nonetheless.

“Have you finished?” inquired the beast. “Don’t waste your energy concocting further taradiddles for
my
sake.”

Vashti’s temper had not been entirely squelched by adversity, merely long suppressed. “Have it your own way!” she flashed. “Of course you must always be correct. Naturally I am all you think me. But you must admit I almost convinced you otherwise.” What would Valérie have done in this situation? Vashti leaned closer to his lordship, casually touched his knee, attempted an arch glance. “Since I have failed to do so, perhaps we may join forces. Once, I think, you would not have been reluctant to do so, Yves.”

For a brief, startled moment, Yves thought she spoke the truth, thought he had indeed been thoroughly duped, and was strongly tempted to shove his companion out of his high perch phaeton into the street. Then reason reasserted itself, and he noticed the tears that sparkled in her eyes, and the trembling of the fingers that rested lightly on his knee. “Nor am I reluctant now,” he responded promptly as he clasped her hand tightly and held it in place. “We had some pleasant times, did we not? I confess I am not reluctant to resume our, ah, association. Tell me, when shall I come to you, Vashti? Perhaps—tonight?”