London's Most Wanted Rake (17 page)

Channing tugged at his waistcoat, gathering a semblance of control about him. ‘Can you see Alina to Argosy House? I will go out and see what can be done—’

‘I want to go out as well,’ Alina interrupted. ‘I want to face them.’ Her chin was up, her eyes firing with anger.

Channing placed a soothing hand on her arm. ‘I know exactly how you feel. But facing them while the rumour is as hot as your temper is not ideal.’ He felt like a hypocrite. His temper was no less hot than hers and he had the satisfaction of going into that ballroom even if he couldn’t fight anyone. He leaned close to her ear, breathing in the scent of her. The primal sensation of wanting to possess her, protect her, was filling him.
She was his.
‘You will be vindicated, my love, you may rest easy on that account. I give you my word.’ She had been harmed enough, suffered enough on her own. But those days were gone. She had him now whether she wanted him or not.

Channing stepped away from her, the suddenness, the newness of the realisation swamping him along with the intensity of what it meant, but mean it he did. Alina was his.

* * *

The ballroom was seething with a frenetic energy when he entered. Channing bowed and nodded to acquaintances with ease, making his way towards his partner for the seventh dance, his hostess, Lady Evert. If anyone knew the gist of the gossip it would be her and she was the sort who would be in an immediate panic.

His instincts were spot on. They’d barely taken the first turn of their waltz when Lady Evert broached the subject. ‘It’s about her. The
comtesse
.’ Her tone was terse in its condemnation. Channing knew what was running through her mind; as hostess, this could ruin her ball—she had invited the woman, after all—or it could make her event an early highlight of the Season, the place where a delicious scandal had started. But she’d have to play it right.

She gave him a simpering look. ‘I don’t suppose you could be talked into rescuing her? Perhaps take her away after this dance. Out of sight, out of mind, I always say.’ She shot a nervous look at the doorway, fearful that the
comtesse
would suddenly reappear from wherever she’d disappeared to. There was desperation in Lady Evert’s command as she weighed her choices. That suited Channing.

‘Perhaps I won’t rescue her at all. She might have already sensed a change in the wind and left,’ Channing suggested with a neutrality he didn’t feel. He couldn’t risk exposing his hand. But it was deuced difficult. Alina was in trouble again and this time he could protect her. People would think twice about crossing Mr Channing Deveril. Such a move, however, would not be discreet. It would be a flagrant announcement of their association.

‘I would consider it a personal favour if you did.’ Lady Evert gave him a knowing look. In other words, if Channing could quietly manoeuvre the troublesome
comtesse
from the venue, she would be grateful. It would be excuse enough to exit the party. He could leave and Lady Evert would think it had been on her account.

‘Then I suppose I could oblige.’ Channing gave her a charming smile. He’d already obliged, in fact. By now, Amery should have quietly left with Alina for Argosy House.

* * *

When the dance was over, he wove through the ballroom, carefully making his way to the library to assure himself Amery had done exactly as instructed. He did not want to make his exit obvious. He had years of experience with this—stop and chat, nod to an acquaintance as if he had all the time in the world. He reminded himself this was not the first time Alina had faced society’s scrutiny. There’d been questions when she’d returned two years ago. But he’d been beside her then, as her hired escort, able to diffuse rumours with his own stories. And she was no wilting wallflower, she’d meet society’s censure with a show of strength. Still, the evening had been an emotionally draining one for her and it was bound to be more so before it was over.

Channing gathered his thoughts and plans as he’d made his way through the crowd, letting objectivity flow through him, calming his overheated emotions. Planning helped create perspective. He would drop a few casual responses to the rumour at his clubs over the next couple of days. If he could get Amery, Jocelyn and Nick to do the same, the rumour would defuse. He knew precisely how to handle this sort of thing. The agency was always quelling such cruel scandals. He was good at it.

He hoped it would be enough. There should be a statute of limitations on such things. Alina had worked hard to make herself socially acceptable, only to have to constantly brace herself against having that acceptability taken away at a moment’s notice. Channing stayed an agonising hour longer to gather information, to hear how the rumour was playing out, what people’s reactions were. But his thoughts were with Alina and his newfound knowledge.

* * *

By the time he called for his carriage and headed to Argosy House, one thought loomed larger than most. Quelling rumours was one thing, quelling doubt was another. Knowing what he knew, he began to wonder: had she done it? It was yet another telling factor as to how far he’d fallen where Alina was concerned.

Her culpability had not been his first thought when Amery had told him of the accusation. Neither had it been his second or third. Those thoughts had been about protecting Alina. It was only now with the crisis firmly in hand that the thought of potential, real guilt crossed his mind. Interestingly enough, what bothered him most about the rumour was not that she stood accused of murder. Her husband had been a mentally unbalanced brute of a man after all. What bothered him most was that he hadn’t known. It was one more thing she’d omitted telling him, one more way in which she sought to distance herself from him. Just when he thought he knew her, he didn’t.

Chapter Seventeen

S
eymour knew. It could be the only explanation for the rumours. Who else would benefit from having such things surface now? But what did he know and how much?

Alina paced Channing’s office at Argosy House while she waited for Channing to arrive. Amery was off getting tea. The place was quiet, all of the men out on nightly assignments. She ran through reasonably safe assumptions in her mind. Obviously, Seymour had discovered the deed was false. What did he know of
her
, though? Had he connected her to the Marliss family and now sensed she wanted revenge? Was that what was behind the rumours being spread tonight? Or had he simply dug up the old scandal as insurance against her and nothing more? If she knew the answers to those questions, she would have a better idea of what he meant to do with this information.

Amery returned, bearing a tray, his cravat hanging undone, his jacket off. ‘I find tea helps in situations like this.’ He gave a boyish grin that admitted he’d fought the kitchen for this assemblage of food and the kitchen had nearly won.

Channing took longer to arrive than she’d anticipated. She’d drank all of Amery’s tea out of restlessness. Two hours had lapsed since she’d left the Evert ball. She’d had plenty of time to assimilate what had happened in the library, what she’d revealed. Had Channing had time to assess it? Had he had time to be repulsed by what the
comte
had done to her? Or was he still in the throes of his chivalry? Her heart ached. He’d believed the worst of her and still rallied to her cause even before tonight. What would it be like to have such a man as her own? He was offering it, of course, a man like Channing would. But she could not take it. She was so very dirty, sullied from her husband’s vices, and now Channing knew the worst: she had murder on her hands. With that kind of scandal, she didn’t dare to dream about a man like Channing Deveril.

At last, she heard his footsteps on the front steps, swift and urgent at the start, but slowing as he entered the hall to a regular pace. The alteration made her smile. Of course, Channing would never outwardly give the appearance of hurrying anywhere, it would be a sign that things were out of his control. For all his airs to the contrary, Channing Deveril was a man who liked to be in control. His manner in the bedroom affirmed it.

Alina could appreciate that. She liked to be in control, too, or at least to give the illusion of it. She heard him murmur something low and inaudible to Amery in the hall as she hastily took a seat in the chair, thumbing through a magazine as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She looked up when he entered, giving the impression she was surprised to see him, that she hadn’t heard a whisper of his presence on the stairs or that she’d even been listening for one.

Lord, he was devastating. She’d seen him just hours ago in full evening dress and thought it wasn’t possible for him to look any more handsome. But here he was, wrecking that hypothesis in messy dishabille. His cravat was undone, its unravelled length hanging against the dark-grey silk of his waistcoat. He carried his jacket over one arm and a blond swathe of hair fell over one eye, having escaped the efforts of his valet to keep it in place.

Her second reaction was less positive: the news must be worse than she thought if Channing had gone to this effort to appear casual, to give the appearance nothing was wrong. He would try to spare her the brunt of it. She could not allow that. She couldn’t help herself, or protect Channing if it came to that, if she didn’t know all she was up against. She rose and straightened her shoulders. ‘Was it foul?’ It was best to begin with a show of strength. This was
her
problem, not his. Her life had been one mess after another. Not his.

Channing laid his coat over the back of his chair behind the desk, giving himself something to do while he gathered his thoughts, Alina guessed. ‘I think we can safely assume Seymour has discovered the deed is a fake and that he has determined your connection to the Marlisses.’

Alina took the news calmly with a nod of her head. Such an outcome was not unlikely. Originally, she’d hoped Seymour would have put those pieces together later in the game
after
he’d tried to draw against the property. But that was no longer the issue. ‘Why do you feel that conclusion is valid?’

Channing sat down in the chair and met her gaze with a seriousness she’d seen that afternoon behind the tree. ‘The rumours are despicable, Alina. I won’t lie to you. They cast you in the worst possible light.’

Alina played with her pearls. ‘What are they saying tonight? That my husband’s death is questionable? That he was poisoned? People said those things eighteen months ago. These are not new.’

Channing’s tone was sharp. ‘They are saying that and more. Seymour has put it about that you murdered your husband.’ Accusation flashed in his eyes, not over any belief he had that she’d actually done such a thing, but accusation over her omission. Of course. He felt betrayed she hadn’t told him when she’d first returned and hired him to ease her way. She’d been a bit vague about it back then. She wouldn’t have chosen for him to find out this way. In fact, she wouldn’t have chosen for him to find out at all.

‘Seymour can’t possibly have any proof of that,’ Alina scoffed as if she found the premise ridiculous. But it did worry her that he’d unearthed so much so quickly. Her husband’s death had occurred in another country and nearly three years ago. Even at the time of his death, the investigation had been done with a lukewarm intensity. Too many people had been too interested in protecting themselves. Her husband had not been well liked and the cousin who had unexpectedly inherited was all too keen to wrap any questions up in a neat package and move on with his new life as the Comte de Charentes to let any probing drag on.

Channing stretched and crossed his legs at the ankles. ‘He doesn’t have to. You know how rumours work. All it takes is repeating them enough and the damage is done. This could ruin you socially, Alina.’

She swallowed. ‘It’s not me I’m worried about. I’ll live. I’ll go to the country and re-invent myself.’ She’d done it before. She’d re-invented herself inside her marriage as a
femme fatale
and after her marriage, even now, she had re-invented herself as an Englishwoman of independent means. One more incarnation would hardly matter. ‘It’s my family I’m concerned about.’

Seymour could hardly say or do anything to her that would be worse than what the
comte
had heaped on her. Her skin was thick. But her family was vulnerable. ‘I am thinking of what a scandal would do to Annarose. She’s to come out next year. I had hoped to have her come to London and make her début here where she could meet more eligible men.’ Her sister wouldn’t meet anyone if these rumours caught fire.

Channing nodded, his blue eyes thoughtful. He had sisters; he was close to his family. He would understand how important it was to her to be able to provide this opportunity for Annarose. ‘We can attempt to scotch the rumours. I can put out counterclaims at the clubs. We can tell society what a horrible marriage it was.’

She shook her head. ‘No details, I couldn’t bear it.’ It was bad enough to be privately humiliated. To have others know would be devastating.

‘Of course, no details.’

But Alina heard something more in his tone. ‘You don’t think such a strategy will work this time.’

‘No, I don’t. There’s more.’

‘More than being accused of murdering one’s own husband? I can’t imagine what “more” there could be,’ Alina said with a lightness she didn’t feel.

‘There are other rumours that suggest you had motive for doing so, that you asked your husband for a divorce not long before his death.’ Channing paused, his handsome face a study in consternation and anger. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me any of it?’ By ‘any of it’, he meant what she’d revealed tonight, this last part of being a suspect, albeit one of many of a very long list, and the request for a divorce.

‘At the time, I didn’t think it mattered.’ Her eyes flashed with indignation. ‘I don’t care to have my decisions questioned. The fewer people who knew, the better. I wanted to leave my past in Paris and start a new life here. I hired the League to help me do that. I told you what you needed to know. I did not mislead you, I did not misrepresent myself.’

Channing shook his head, a shadow of sadness crossing his eyes. ‘I don’t mean then, I mean now, tonight, when there was no business between us.’

‘It didn’t seem like the right time. I didn’t want it to seem as if I were making unrealistic expectations of you. Everything between us was new and heady and passionate, not the best circumstances in which to make decisions. I thought it was best to keep it to myself.’ There was so much bad news when it came to her life, it was hard to know when to trot it out for consideration and up until today and the carriage, there’d been no reason to tell a man who would be moving on.

To his credit, Channing did not give in to a rant. It would have been so easy to shout cruel things, to throw the folly of that decision back in her face. She knew plenty of men who would feel justified in doing so. But Channing was not of the usual. He was silent for a long while, perhaps weighing his choice of response.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet. ‘What do you think of that decision now?’ His strategy was entirely disarming. She’d been prepared to fight, to defend her decision. But he would not be provoked. It was probably for the best—the tea set Amery had used was too pretty to throw.

Alina sat back down in her chair, her own fight going out of her. It was hard to stay defensive when there was no enemy. ‘The divorce was my last stand, my last attempt to be free. The things I’ve already shared with you were not isolated incidents. I would remind myself of all that I had: the house in Fontainebleau, the luxurious home in Paris, the fine clothes, the freedom to do as I pleased when he wasn’t in town, which was often. I told myself I was lucky. I wasn’t a rich girl with a lot to bring to a marriage and yet I’d managed to get this one. As long as I was with the
comte
I would want for nothing. My family would want for nothing.

‘Was it too much to ask if he requested I sit at the table of his all-male dinners? Was it too much to ask if I wore the gowns he provided for those occasions, even if they were extremely provocative and not to my taste? Was it too much if he made certain demands in the bedroom? He was my husband after all. After a while, as you know, the demands became more prurient, more public. He had a particular fantasy in which I wore nothing but a diamond-studded dog collar and a matching leash. He would have me sit at his feet all evening and feed me from his hand. He was fond of reminding me that both the government and the church had given him dominion over me. I had no grounds upon which to refuse.

‘That doesn’t mean I didn’t try. But it had ill effects. He curtailed my social freedom. No longer could I hold my salons, or be seen in the company of other men. He spent more time in Paris. Our drawing rooms were full of his orgies, the household staff was full of his spies, I couldn’t go out without a full report being given to him of my activities. Anything would set him off and I’d be locked in my room for endless amounts of time, enduring a variety of deprivations.’

A fleeting thought crossed his blue eyes. ‘You must have hated the prize at the egg hunt.’ He’d put the pieces of that puzzle together. She could see Channing’s fists clench, his jaw tighten.

‘I don’t tell you this to rouse your anger against a dead man. I tell you so you understand what I was up against, so you don’t think the other incidents were random acts of rage. When I asked him for the divorce, he laughed and said, “On what grounds? Do I beat you? No. Have I ever laid a violent hand on you? No. Even if divorce were legal in France, you’d have no grounds and an annulment after so many years is laughable. I’d never attest to it. Do you have beautiful clothes? Are you married to a wealthy
comte?
Do you have every luxury a woman could want? Do you have a husband who is attentive? Yes to all of that. If you say I keep you a prisoner here, I will say I don’t let you go out for fear of your safety. Who is going to complain about that?”

‘But there were other incentives to stay quiet beyond the hopelessness of his reasoning. He threatened my family. The
comte
had English friends. He told me he’d tell them to spread rumours of my infidelity, my inability to give him a child, of my debaucheries so that my family would not be able to hold their heads up in public. That was how he first cut me off from them. I could not write to them in case I’d be compelled to plead my case. You know already he denied me permission to go to them.’

Her hands had become white in her lap where they gripped one another. ‘Channing—’ her voice was a quiet whisper ‘—I didn’t kill him, but it’s only because someone else did. When he refused the divorce, I was desperate enough to do it. I just needed an opportunity, but someone else had an opportunity first. These are horrible things and horrible thoughts. Do you see now why I didn’t tell you? A wife wanting to kill her husband? I didn’t want another soul to know. I just wanted it all to go away, all the horror to be buried with him so I could start again. I didn’t want the future tainted by him, it was the only thing I had that was truly mine.’

‘We’ll get Seymour and put a stop to this,’ Channing said fiercely.

‘This time, maybe. What happens next time? Channing, I’m ruined. I think the sooner you face that, the sooner we can be smart about the realities of a relationship. It just isn’t going to happen between us.’

‘I refuse to believe that,’ Channing answered. His eyes held hers for a long moment. He was thinking again. ‘I think it could happen if you would let it. Stop pushing me away. Stop using Seymour as an excuse, stop using the
comte
as an excuse, the quarrel at Christmas, all of it as reasons we can’t be together.’ He gave a warm laugh. ‘You see Seymour as a barrier to our being together but I see it as a reason to be together. I can protect you. If you need to use excuses, use that one. I want you and I’m not above begging, Alina.’