Ripe for Pleasure (29 page)

The anger bubbling below his skin began to cool, even as his concern grew. “Do you know what was in Charles’s missive?”

Beau shook her head, lower lip caught between her teeth, brow furrowed. “Whatever it was, I don’t think it quite served its
purpose. She was muttering something about killing him herself before she’d even finished reading it.”

The door opened, and Pilcher, somewhat restored in appearance, announced that Leo’s horse was saddled and ready. Leo nodded,
then laughed at the indignant expression on his sister’s face.

“Pilcher, send the horse back to the stable and have them bring the carriage round. Lady Boudicea will be accompanying me.”

Beau leapt up, eyes still damp, but smiling. “I promise you won’t regret it, Leo.”

Leo laughed and shook his head. His mother had kidnapped his mistress, and he was about to go in pursuit with his sister in
tow. An evil thought occurred to him. It was no more than Beau deserved. “Don’t thank me yet, brat. You’ve yet to see your
traveling companion.”

CHAPTER 31

T
wo days gone by and still no Leo. Viola sank farther into the seat of his mother’s coach and tried to sleep. The duchess pushed
late each night, stopping only for a few scant hours to rest, and then they were back on the road, moving steadily north.

What should have been a five- or six-day trip had been shrunk nearly by half. But at every stop, Viola still fully expected
to see Leo. Still hoped to see him. Surely a man on horseback could catch a coach, no matter how swiftly it traveled? Surely
Leo wasn’t going to abandon her to his mother?

She’d been unable to ascertain exactly what the duchess’s purpose was in bundling her off to Scotland. She had barely spoken
to her once she’d made certain that her son had not been responsible for the beating, and that neither his arrest nor his
hanging was imminent.

It was dark outside now, but the nearly full moon provided enough light for Viola to see the duchess fiddling with the buttons
on the cuff of her coat. When Leo’s
mother had instructed her coachman to change the horses and push on at dusk, Viola’s heart had sunk a little more.

“Tell me about your family.” The question floated out of the dark, almost too soft to hear. It was the first thing the duchess
had said to her all day. She’d been brooding silently, staring out the window, or sometimes at Viola, as though searching
for the answer to some riddle in her face.

“There’s nothing to tell, Your Grace.”

“Bah.” The older woman leaned forward, her gaze holding Viola’s in the dim interior of the coach. “You didn’t spring from
the ground like a mushroom, and whoever your first protector was, I doubt he found you in a brothel in Covent Garden. A pretty
milkmaid you’re not.”

A smile tugged at Viola’s mouth. Her first protector had found her beside his best friend’s grave, destitute and heartbroken.
And he hadn’t really meant to make her his mistress. It had just turned out that way. But she wasn’t about to tell Her Grace
that
story.

“I eloped when I was fifteen, and my family cast me off, so I have no family. It’s as simple as that.”

“And the man?”

“He died.”

“Ah, well…” For a moment the duchess seemed very far away, then she let her breath out and smoothed her hair back from her
face in a gesture very like her son’s when he was anxious. “You know I eloped with Leo’s father?”

Viola nodded. Everyone knew that. It had been a grand enough scandal in its day that it was still whispered about whenever
the topic of the mad Vaughns came up. One of
many examples of outrageous behavior in a family history that stretched back for centuries.

“I rather imagine being an heiress made your decision to do so a bit more forgivable than mine.”

“Not at all. It simply means that had he died, I wouldn’t have been left with no choices in life and even fewer friends.”

Viola laughed, unable not to do so. The duchess had the truth of it, and she wasn’t too mealymouthed to admit it. “I was left
with one friend.”

“And he made you his mistress.”

Viola sighed and shook her head. “Not at first. But being already married himself, it was all he could offer in the end: entrée
into a world I hadn’t even really known existed, a way to avoid the workhouse or something worse, a means to start over.”

Leo’s mother nodded thoughtfully, one hand twisting the long curl that hung over her shoulder. “A family might be
very
forgiving if the prodigal returned married to the son of a duke.”

“Are you offering me a path to forgiveness or a chance to lord my newfound place in the world over them?”

It was the duchess’s turn to smile. The first genuine smile Viola had seen. Her lips curled at the corners like those of a
little girl. “Whichever you would like, but my real point is that no matter what you say now about having been cast off, they’re
likely to turn up when they get wind of your new station in life.”

“Putting aside the fact that I’ve no intention of taking up a new station”—Viola ground her teeth as the duchess blinked innocently
at her and forged on, refusing to be
beguiled or bamboozled—“you want to know if you would be embarrassed by them? More embarrassed than having a grand whore for
a daughter-in-law in the first place? Doubtful, Your Grace. Very doubtful. Unless you’ve an abhorrence for vicars and cadet
branches of ancient baronial bloodlines. No? Well, I certainly have.”

The duchess nodded noncommittally, and Viola sighed. “My family’s presentable,” she summed up, “but not
tonnish.
The problem here is that I’ve no wish to be redeemed.”

“Then we do have a problem, Mrs. Whedon. A prime scandal is more than I can ask for from Glennalmond, and I’d not wish it
for Beau—so much harder on the girls, unfair as that is—which leaves only poor Leo to kick up a dust in true Vaughn fashion
and make his ancestors proud.”

“Living with his mistress at Dyrham isn’t scandal enough?”

“For you and me, most certainly. For Leonidas?” The duchess shook her head. “I must quote you back to yourself:
doubtful.
He was never a boy to do things by halves. And that’s what you’re offering him: half a life, a partial commitment, paste
in place of a diamond.”

Viola’s throat tightened and her eyes burned. “I’m offering him what I can.”

“No, you’re offering him what’s safe. And that won’t do. Not for Leo. I let Glennalmond settle for a socially grand match
with a woman I don’t think he gives a fig about, but I’ll be damned if either of my other children do so.”

“I think you’re mad, Your Grace.” It was the only conclusion. It wasn’t simply a rumor. His entire family was
unhinged. “To help your son to such a match. To even countenance, let along promote it…”

The duchess smiled again. “I haven’t yet agreed to help my son to anything. I could be wrong, you see. I could be wrong about
you, about him. His sister thinks he loves you. I’m not so sure. And I’ve no idea at all about your finer feelings, and no
real right to ask.”

“But you’re going to.”

The duchess shook her head, her expression clearly saying that Viola was a simpleton. “No, I won’t believe you whatever you
say. How could I?”

“Then why all this?”

“Because there’s no other way. His grandfather left him Dyrham for a reason. To anchor him, to offer him something most younger
sons lack, a sense of purpose, of belonging.”

“And you think he needs a wife.”

“I know he needs one. What I don’t know is if he needs you to be that wife, or if you’re simply an alluring distraction.”

“So this is a test. How do you know I’ve passed?”

The duchess smiled again. “I’ll know when my son arrives. I’ve been expecting him since we set out, and I’m extremely put
out that so far he’s failed to live up to expectations.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing, Your Grace. And that was not an admission of love.”

The duchess’s smile grew, and her eyes crinkled up. “Not on your part, I agree. But do you expect me to believe that you think
he’d ride hell-for-leather after you, against my strict orders, simply for lust?”

Viola ground her teeth, trapped in the duchess’s labyrinthine logic. She hadn’t admitted she loved him, but she’d certainly
confirmed for his mother that she believed he loved her.

“We’re never going to catch them.”

Leo glanced at his sister over the rim of his mug. He swallowed and set his ale down on the table. Beau was ripping a bun
into pieces and feeding them to Pen with a look of angry resignation on her face.

“That was a foregone conclusion as soon as I agreed to the coach.” He tossed the drooling mastiff an entire bun, then bit
into one himself. They were filled with minced fruit and nuts and still warm from the oven. He chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed.
“Mrs. Whedon’s safe enough with Mother, or from Mother, I should say. It’s Charles I’m worried about.”

Beau’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting his with a flash of anger followed by a shimmer of tears. She blinked them away,
and her expression hardened. “If he shows up, I’ll shoot him myself.”

“I don’t see him being so bold. I think whatever he told mother, it was designed to put me in her black books and Mrs. Whedon
in her sights. He’s expecting Mother to do his dirty work for him.”

“What do you think was in that letter?”

Pen nudged his knee insistently, and Leo tossed her another bun. “Something along the lines of my attacking him because he
and my mistress had fallen in love. Maybe he and I fought a duel over my treatment of her. Maybe he tried to defend her and
I attacked him out of hand. What
ever it was, you can be sure it flirted with the truth just enough to make Mother wonder…”

“With what truth?” Her eyes were wary again, as though she didn’t really want to know.

“With the truth that I shot him. And that I did it over Mrs. Whedon. He’d want to be avenged for that before all else.”

Beau nodded. “And the rumors of Mrs. Whedon having been badly beaten?”

“Also true.”

“But not by you.” Revulsion crawled across her face. “Charles can’t be fool enough to think that Mother would ever believe
such a story.”

Leo shook his head. “He was fool enough to believe he could abandon you to whatever fate you met at Vauxhall without repercussions.
Do you think if Mother knew about that betrayal he’d still be walking this earth?”

“She does know.”

Leo raised one brow. He hadn’t thought Beau could surprise him anymore. “And what was her response?”

“That she owed Mrs. Whedon her thanks. I told her when the rumors first started a few weeks ago. I thought it might help calm
Mother down. The story about Mrs. Whedon helping me, I mean.”

“And did it?”

Beau shook her head ruefully.

Leo grimaced. It wouldn’t have. The duchess didn’t like loose ends or unpaid debts, and she wasn’t a fan of the theory that
revenge was a dish best served cold. She was a woman of action. She’d analyze the situation and do what she deemed necessary
to bring about a desirable conclusion.

He’d be lucky to ever see Viola again. It would be just like his mother to put her on a ship and send her off to parts unknown
with a generous annuity to procure her silence. But his cousin Charles would be damn lucky to survive.

CHAPTER 32