Nicole Jordan (15 page)

Macky nodded. “You can count on us, sir.”

“I never doubted it.” He trusted Macky and his other friends to set his plans in motion. When he returned, he would ascertain if the Director of Maitland Shipping could be induced to bear witness against Heward. But regardless, he would concentrate on devising a trap to lure the baron into revealing his crimes.

Deverill suddenly paused. “I just recalled, I left out something. Talk to Venus and discover what she knows about Heward’s sexual predilections. The dashers at Bruno’s seemed somewhat frightened of him, which only supports the rumors you uncovered about him.”

As the proprietress of one of London’s most exclusive sin clubs, Madam Venus would have made it her business to observe her potential clientele among the gentry and aristocracy. And only last month she had agreed to work for the Guardians in exchange for staying out of prison after committing treason.

“Anything else?” Macky asked.

“You should keep an eye on the Maitland housekeeper, Mrs. Peeke. I doubt she’s in any danger, since Heward isn’t aware of her accusations, but let her know how to contact you should she require help. We’ll need her to testify against Heward if we build a case against him. And when Sir Gawain arrives in London next week, brief him on what happened and relay whatever instructions he has for me.”

In his capacity as leader of the Guardians, Sir Gawain Olwen usually traveled to London once or twice a year. This time he was visiting to participate in the ongoing festivities celebrating Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo.

Pocketing one of the pistols, Deverill handed the other to Macky. “Now I’d like you to ride down to the docks and keep watch on my schooner until I can get there with Antonia. Dispatch any of Heward’s minions who might come there searching for me. We have barely an hour.”

Macky grinned, obviously relishing the challenge of knocking heads with Deverill’s enemies.

They both went downstairs, but Macky left for the docks, while Deverill took the waiting hackney to Antonia’s mansion barely two miles away.

He left the carriage standing down the street and knocked at the servants’ entrance. A sleepy scullery maid admitted him and went to fetch Mrs. Peeke, who invited him to her rooms for privacy.

The housekeeper immediately understood the implications of the Cyprian’s killing. “So he likely
did
murder the master,” she muttered darkly.

“I’m convinced now that that’s the case.”

“Thank God you came, Mr. Deverill.”

He shook his head. “So far I’ve accomplished nothing but getting myself arrested and branded a fugitive. I’ll deal with that eventually, but first I have to see to Miss Maitland’s safety. I want your blessing to take her away from here.”

“You have it, dear sir.”

“I will be delivering her to Lady Isabella Wilde in southern Cornwall, since I’d like to shield her reputation as much as possible. Lady Isabella should be in residence any day now—at her late husband’s castle near Falmouth. She’ll provide adequate chaperonage.”

He didn’t point out that the voyage would take at least two days, and that Antonia would be alone in his company all that time. But at the moment, getting her away from the deadly Heward was more crucial than keeping her reputation spotless.

“I expect Heward will call on her tomorrow,” Deverill continued, “so we need to supply a reasonable explanation for her disappearance.”

“Have you thought of something, sir?”

“I suggest you put about the tale that Miss Maitland is making an urgent visit to the country to provide solace to a dying friend. And to support the ruse, it would be best if her companion could be induced to follow her to Cornwall. Miss Tottle could travel by coach tomorrow. You could tell her that Antonia wishes her to come, but it would be wiser to mislead her about the destination until after she is on the road, so Heward will have no chance of following her.”

Mrs. Peeke nodded in approval. “You leave Miss Tottle to me. She will be eager to see that Miss Maitland’s character remains unblemished.”

“Good. Now if I might speak to Miss Maitland alone? I have to convince her to come with me tonight, and we have no time to lose.”

Mrs. Peeke evidently understood the need for secrecy, for she gave him a candle and showed him upstairs to Antonia’s bedchamber door.

Breathing a bit more easily, Deverill silently let himself in and shut the door behind him. Now he had to lure Antonia on board his ship, and quickly. He had little time to spend on accusations or explanations, in case Heward decided to search for him here. He wanted Antonia to accompany him willingly rather than be forced, however, so he resolved to use reason first, and prevarication if necessary.

He planned to tell her he had a letter on his ship that contained evidence of his allegations, which was not wholly a lie. The housekeeper’s original letter recounting her fears about Samuel Maitland’s death by poison
was
in his schooner’s cabin, although Deverill knew that alone would never be enough to convince Antonia of Heward’s guilt. But it would be far too complicated and time-consuming just now to call Mrs. Peeke in here to relate her tale. And Antonia still might not believe her suspicions and thus would refuse to accompany him to his ship.

No, even if he had to use underhanded means, he had to act. Antonia would not be happy to discover she’d been tricked, but he would deal with her wrath once they were safely at sea.

Holding the candle aloft, he crossed to the bed, where she lay fast asleep. The sight of her caused an unwelcome jolt to the rhythm of his heart. Deverill halted, desire clenching in his gut.

A cloud of shimmering auburn hair framed her face, drifting about her shoulders and the ripe swell of her breasts. Since the night was warm, she’d drawn the sheet up to cover only the lower half of her body, and through the thin cambric of her nightdress, he could see the sweet globes crowned with dusky-rose nipples.

He swore softly as a hard ache settled in his loins. Yet he knew his reaction was more than carnal. Admittedly he’d always had a fiercely protective streak. And he had a definite weakness for vulnerable beauties. Yet his raw desire to protect and cherish Antonia was not due solely to his sworn duty as a Guardian, or his own personal vows, or even his obligations to his good friend, her father.

Shaking himself, Deverill forcibly returned his focus to his purpose. Depositing the candle on the beside table, he settled one hip on the mattress, then pressed his hand gently over Antonia’s mouth to keep her silent when he woke her.

Her eyes fluttered open, while her body tensed.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he murmured, easing his hand away.

“Deverill . . . ?” Antonia asked in confusion.

Fighting the cobwebs of sleep that befuddled her mind, she blinked at the grave, handsome face hovering over her. Then she suddenly came fully awake, realizing that Deverill’s presence was real and no sensual dream. He was actually here, in
bed
with her, while she wore only a nightshift.

Every inch of her body flooding with acute awareness, she dragged up the sheet to cover her breasts as she sat up and scooted back against the headboard. “What the devil are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Mrs. Peeke knows I am here.” When Antonia eyed him warily, he added with a humorless smile, “I’m not here to ravish you, if that is what worries you.”

“Then why
are
you here?”

“Urgent business. I need you to listen to me, Antonia.”

She searched his rugged face, suddenly noticing the gash on the right side of his forehead . . . and the dark stain on his shirt collar. “Is that
blood
?”

“I’m afraid so. But it isn’t mine.”

“Whose, then?”

“I was at a club tonight with your betrothed—”

“Oh, my word. Did you fight with Heward?”

“No. I was with a woman. . . . She was attacked and killed. And I believe your Lord Heward was responsible.”

Antonia stared at Deverill in blank bewilderment, seeing a slight tension to his jaw, a bleak flatness to his eyes. “What do you mean . . . responsible?” she finally said.

“I suspect Heward ordered her killing and set it up so that it looked as if I had done it. I barely managed to avoid arrest afterward. I’m wanted by Bow Street for murder.”

“Murder?”
Her confusion only increased. It was alarming to see the blood on Deverill’s clothing, and for an instant, she wondered if he might even be a danger to
her.
He looked dark and formidable just now. . . .

Trying to gather her scattered wits, Antonia raised a hand to her forehead. She had no doubt Deverill was capable of violence, but never murder. Yet he seemed to be accusing Heward of the same thing. Perhaps she was dreaming after all.

“There’s more,” Deverill said grimly before she could think of any response.

“More?” Her voice was a mere rasp.

“A year ago, Heward likely poisoned your father and caused his death.”

“W-what?”
she stammered. “You cannot be serious.”

“I would never jest about something like this, Antonia. Two days after you became betrothed, your
father discovered some damning information about Heward that caused him to withdraw his support of your marriage. So Heward brought him a bottle of brandy that later was suspected of containing poison. I don’t believe your father’s death was due to heart failure.”

She was too shocked to say a word. For the span of a dozen heartbeats, she simply stared.

“That is preposterous,” Antonia finally gritted out in a shaky voice.

“No,” Deverill insisted. “It’s entirely too credible.”

His sincerity gave her pause, but then denial welled up in her. “How could I possibly believe such a wild accusation? The notion is mad—”

“Not at all. I’ve suspected Heward for some time now.”

“Then why are you just now telling me?”

“Because I wasn’t convinced he was guilty.”

“And you are convinced now?”

“Yes. A woman is dead tonight because of him. I just can’t prove it yet.”

Antonia shook her head, not wanting to hear such terrible allegations against the man she had promised to marry.

Deverill grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Your father trusted me. You can do the same, Antonia.”

A feeling akin to panic churned in her chest as her conflicting instincts battled inside her. Trust Deverill? And believe that Heward was a murderer? The choice was impossible. “You will need to give me some reason to trust you,” she exclaimed, her tone stubbornly heated.

“I have evidence. There is a letter on board my schooner I want to show you. I’m leaving London tonight, within the hour, since I can’t stay without risking arrest. I want you to accompany me to my ship.”

“Now?”

“This minute. You need to get dressed.”

“You truly
are
mad!”

Deverill rose from the bed. “I don’t intend to debate with you,” he said in the voice of a man accustomed to command. “You have two choices, princess. You can dress and come with me, or I can carry you out in your nightshift.”

Her mouth dropped open. Watching Deverill’s grim, set expression, though, she realized he would do exactly as he threatened if she didn’t give in gracefully.

After another mutinous moment, Antonia clenched her jaw and slid out of bed. When his gaze raked over her thin nightshift, she felt the sudden, stomach-
tightening awareness of Deverill as a man, but she squared her shoulders and hurried to her dressing room. Fuming, she quickly pulled on a brown muslin, long-sleeved gown, then stockings and sturdy half boots, not bothering with a shift or corset or garters.

When she came out again, Deverill was waiting by the door. He scrutinized her choice of attire and gave a qualified nod. “You need to wear a cloak with a hood. I don’t want you to be recognized.”

Antonia shot him a darkling glance. “How was I to know what to wear? I am not in the habit of skulking about in the middle of the night as you obviously are.”

“Humor me just this once.”

She fetched a cloak and put it on. As she was fastening the clasp at her throat, Deverill came up to her. Reaching up, he drew the hood around her face, tucking tendrils of her hair inside the collar. “You’ll do.” He took her hand. “Now come, we have very little time.”

Instinctively resisting his orders, she pulled back. “But I want to write a note to Miss Tottle first and tell her—”

“I’ve already told Mrs. Peeke where you are going.”

Antonia gaped at him. “You are rather sure of yourself, aren’t you, Mr. Deverill?”

“I hoped you would be curious enough to want to know about your father’s murder.”

Antonia stiffened, but she pressed her lips together to stifle a retort. She might be compelled to accompany Deverill to his ship, but she didn’t intend to give his outlandish allegations any credence whatsoever until he showed her his so-called evidence.

She determinedly held her tongue, even when he ushered her out the servants’ entrance instead of the front door.

He had a hackney carriage waiting down the street. Deverill handed her in and gave the coachman directions to the docks, then joined her inside.

They maintained a taut silence during the entire drive. Antonia’s thoughts were a mass of confusion as she contemplated Deverill’s incredible charge that Heward had murdered her father. It stunned her that he would even make such an outlandish allegation. Stunned and shocked and upset her. Even the possibility was too dreadful to credit.

She clamped down on the turmoil of emotions warring within her and tried to digest what else he had said. Had a woman really died tonight? Was Deverill actually accused of her murder? And was he truly leaving London? Leaving England?

She knew she should be relieved to see the last of him, but the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach was nothing at all like relief.

On his part, Deverill expelled an uneven breath, gratified that he’d brought Antonia this far, and hopeful that he might just manage to pull off his scheme. Through the carriage window, he could see that the docks were alive with activity, even though it was nearly midnight, since half a dozen ships were making ready to depart.