Wicked Angel (Blackthorne Trilogy) (29 page)

      
Joss eyed her red satin slippers with considerable trepidation. In spite of the hours Barbara had drilled her walking in them and holding her skirt above the high heels, she was still nervous. She tilted her head and the ruby teardrops in her ears danced through the tawny tendrils of hair that fell around her cheeks.

      
"I especially like the way your dress emphasizes the gold and bronze tones in your hair."

      
"I'm not certain you should have lightened it so much more," Joss said dubiously. "You must have used a whole shipload of lemons."

      
Barbara laughed. " 'Tis quite perfect. Hair that long and thick is a dream to work with," she said, adjusting one of the heavy gold combs that held the curling mass high on Joss's head.

      
"Come, my dear, I hear Monty's carriage pulling up. I simply cannot wait to see the expression on Alex's face when I introduce him to his own wife!"

* * * *

      
"You indicated something urgent, sir?" Alex said as he was ushered into Jonathan Russell's office.

      
Eyeing Alex's black superfine coat and trousers and richly brocaded charcoal waistcoat, he said dryly, "I hate to tear you away from your busy social life, Mr. Blackthorne. Do you know a man named Wilbur Kent, a fellow American, I believe?"

      
Alex's eyes narrowed. "I met him briefly a number of years ago. He's distantly related by marriage to my family through my grandfather's first wife. Why do you ask?"

      
"I have reports from Virginia"—he shuffled several papers on his crowded desk—"which indicate that he is in the pay of the British."

      
"A spy? Hmm. The Kents always were an unsavory lot from what I gather. But why does he concern you?"

      
"Because he, too, has come to surface here in London."

      
"And you suspect a connection between that and Sir Rupert's return?"

      
"It is more than coincidence, wouldn't you imagine?"

      
Alex nodded. "And I would also imagine you wish me to find out precisely what the colonel and the spy are planning."

      
"If it would not inconvenience you, your country would be greatly appreciative," Russell said dryly.

      
Alex merely grunted in reply.

      
On the brief carriage ride to the ball, he turned over the pieces of the puzzle in his mind. He had written to his father about Chamberlain's mission in the gulf with Weatherford and McQueen. Devon had indicated considerable concern about the situation. The whole frontier was sitting on a powder keg and John Bull was holding flint and tinder over it.

      
His driver pulled to a halt and climbed down to open the door, but Alex had already anticipated him and quickly jumped to the pavement. As he ascended the wide marble stairs to the massive front door, the soft strains of a waltz came lilting out. He was in bad loaf now. The dancing had already begun. Rather than being announced at the front entry, he decided to slip quietly in the side and seek out his womenfolk so his tardiness would not be remarked upon.

      
His mother would be in a taking and Joss ... for the life of him he found it difficult to imagine how Barbara had even gotten her to attend the soiree. Probably by saying her Great Aunt Lucretia would be terribly hurt if Joss refused. He snorted. Her grace, Lucretia, Dowager Duchess of Chitchester, wouldn't be hurt if a six in hand ran over her at a full gallop!

      
Joss would be ill at ease, though. He needed to be with her so she would not sit alone, a self-conscious wallflower who did not know how to dance even if any of the young gallants had the courtesy to ask a plain, overly tall female such as she. Why on earth had his mother dragged poor Joss here in the first place?

      
He stood at the edge of the crowd, surveying the glittering assembly in the ballroom. His carousing companion the young duke hovered near the punch bowl, raising his glass in salute to Alex. Chitchester's expression was rather peculiar, almost gloating. Alex dismissed it as an excess of port and returned his attention to the silk- and satin-swathed females clustered around the perimeter of the dance floor.

      
That was when he saw her.

      
Alex stood transfixed by the tall, regal woman in crimson who whirled by in the arms of a vacuous young viscount. She was slim but curvaceous with a striking profile. Great heavy masses of tawny hair were piled high on her head with a few delicate curls falling down her slender back. She was a diamond of the first water—no, a ruby.

      
Ruby! He squinted incredulously at the antique ruby pendant and earrings she wore. The Caruthers rubies. His mother's rubies! As if on cue, the fascinating female turned as the music ceased, looking directly at him over her partner's shoulder. Their eyes met from across the room and held. Joss looked startled and shy. Alex was simply pole-axed.

      
Before he could gather his scattered wits, a bevy of men surrounded her, some actually tall enough to obscure his view of her. Then a familiar voice, low and throaty, purred in his ear.

      
"Whoever would have imagined your wilted wallflower would bloom?" He turned to Cybill, eager to rid himself of her cloying coyness and go to his wife, but her fingers dug into his arm, demanding attention. "I've missed you, darling."

      
"My lady, when last we parted, it was not, as I recall, on fond terms." He was about to turn away when a man materialized from the shadows. Although he had not seen the bounder in ten years, it was Wilbur Kent, he was almost certain of it.

      
Cybill pouted prettily. "I was cross with you, darling. You did run off and leave ... unfinished business...." Her beringed fingers climbed up his arm to rest possessively on his shoulder.

      
Damn! The music had started up again. He prayed Joss was occupied, not watching this.

      
"Are you ready to leave, m'dear? We've paid our respects to the duchess. I find the company's become quite tedious," Kent said in a lisping Virginia drawl, while his cold, pale eyes swept up and down Alex insolently.

      
Cybill set her jaw mulishly. refusing to relinquish Alex's shoulder in spite of Kent's arm sliding around her waist. "Don't be tiresome, Willie. Can't you see I am already engaged?"

      
"We have an important meeting on the half hour, need I remind you?" he said, gritting out each word.

      
As Kent and Cybill clashed, Alex did some swift calculation. A meeting—with Sir Rupert? Someone from the war office? Whatever, it was a valuable source of information. Smiling, he took Cybill's hand and saluted it, then bowed. "I do not wish to poach on another gentleman's property, my lady. Besides, I fear my wife might object." He looked past her at Kent, whose impatient expression grew disdainful.

      
"Until later then," she said with a moue dimpling her cheek. Kent practically dragged her behind him after dismissing Alex as if he signified no more than an insect. Obviously the spy did not recognize him as the boy he'd met at Quintin Blackthorne's plantation a decade ago.

      
Alex was desperate to find his wife, who was flitting from man to man on the ballroom floor like a flame in the breeze; at the same time he was duty bound to follow Kent and Cybill, who might lead him to sir Rupert and who knew what sort of valuable information. There was no time to leave a message, no way to reach Joss as she vanished in the press of dancers.

      
With an oath of frustration, he turned and slipped behind the marble pillar, trailing after Cybill's lingering perfume.

      
Joss must have held her breath for hours—at least it seemed an eternity since she'd felt Alex's gaze on her. His expression had appeared startled, disbelieving, then perhaps pleased. She had waited with her heart in her throat, frightened, dizzy, quite desperate for him to come to her—she prayed, to claim her.

      
But he had not. The uncertain hope of that fragile moment was shattered when Cybill Chamberlain glided up beside him and placed her hand possessively on his arm. As soon as Alex turned toward the beauteous brunette, a crush of gentlemen surrounded Joss, obscuring her view while they clamored for the next dance. When next she could see her husband, he was kissing Cybill's fingers.

      
The naked pain sliced clean to her soul. So much for Barbara's well-intentioned matchmaking. He believed her to be ridiculous, his gawky crusader, masquerading as a belle. She had embarrassed him. Yet even though Alex found her wanting, it appeared the rest of the men present tonight were all quite smitten.
But I want only Alex, damn him!

      
Biting the inside of her cheek until the acrid taste of blood filled her mouth, Joss wrenched her anguished thoughts away from her husband and accepted the Marquess of Clarence's hand as the music resumed. When next she looked over to where Alex stood, he and Cybill Chamberlain had vanished.

      
The evening passed in a dizzying whirl of laughter and wine and music. It should have been the most exhilarating time of her life. Repeatedly she was pronounced the ton's latest nonpareil. Everyone from the old prune-faced dowager duchess to the young dashingly handsome Duke of Westover assured her it was true.

      
Outwardly Joss smiled. Inwardly she died. But she endured until the midnight supper. As the ladies and gentlemen queued up to enter the sumptuous Chitchester dining hall, Joss refused numerous requests to escort her. When it became apparent that Alex was not going to return for her, she went in search of her mother-in-law. Pray heaven Barbara would understand her desire to depart. Monty was nowhere to be found, but Octavia stated acidly that it was his wont to desert her in favor of some disgraceful gaming hell on most social occasions.

      
Seeing how crestfallen Joss was, Barbara made their excuses and had a Chitchester footman send around Monty's carriage. As they rode through the dark, deserted streets, she attempted to console Joss. "I cannot fathom Alex's behavior, but I'm certain he had an excellent reason for it."!
He'd best, else I shall flay him alive with a Muskogee skinning knife and make divan cushions from his thick, insensitive hide!

* * * *

      
Alex crouched beside the bow window, hiding behind a boxwood hedge on the grounds of the Mayfair estate to which he had followed Wilbur Kent. The spy, now dressed in buckskins, sat inside, closeted with the Chamberlains. His Majesty's government was paying handsomely to keep the colonel and his lady in high style, Alex thought with disgust. He strained to overhear their conversation as he observed the trio seated around a Pembroke table.

      
"This is it, Kent. A small fortune, courtesy of the foreign secretary. See you spend it well on your savage allies," Sir Rupert said, handing him a money belt heavy with gold.

      
Kent stiffened. "Those savages are the key to stopping American advances on the frontier."

      
The colonel raised his left eyebrow, emphasizing the saber slash that had cleft it in twain. "I shall expect a complete accounting when we rendezvous at Fort Charlotte."

      
"Really, Rupert, you act as if you do not trust poor Willie," Cybill said, languidly placing her hand on the sleeve of his uniform. Her eyes glittered with sick excitement as she pitted the two hostile men against each other. Alex could almost smell her arousal. The thought that he had come close to bedding her sickened him.

      
"I shall bring the whole Creek Confederacy in league with Tecumseh by summer's end," Kent boasted.

      
"See that you do. 'Tis likely his majesty's government shall be at war with your United States before that."

      
The colonel stood up, dismissing Kent, who headed for the door, saying, "Until we meet again in Mobile."

      
Chamberlain nodded brusquely, then turned back to his wife. "I sail on the morning tide. Shall you miss me, pet?" he asked Cybill mockingly.

      
"A pity I shall be left all alone with you sailing for Mobile and Willie to Charleston. Whatever shall I do to amuse myself?" she asked with a pout.

      
"I am certain you shall contrive to find male companionship," her husband responded. "Just be certain, whoever he is, that he is useful to our cause."

      
Alex watched the officer pull on his gloves and adjust his sword, preparing to take his leave of Cybill. He cursed in silent frustration. The two malfeasants were sailing on different ships to stir up more grief on the frontier. What should he do, intercept Sir Rupert? Or Kent? He could not do both.

      
Hearing Kent summon his carriage, Alex made a snap decision. Relieving Kent of the money with which to purchase arms for the Red Sticks must take precedence over stopping the colonel. Surely locating Chamberlain's ship before morning should not prove difficult. A man-o'-war the size of
The
Walsingham
would be difficult to miss. He slipped from the hedges and hid in the dense shadows by the roadside where Kent's carriage would pass.

      
When it lumbered by, he jumped onto the jack in the rear of the conveyance. He did not see the tall, thin figure who watched him stow away, then followed.

      
By the time Kent reached his destination near the docks, Alex was battered and filthy, his elegant evening clothes ruined by the ride. He climbed silently from the back of the carriage and slipped down the dark alleyway after Kent, who carried the thick money belt Chamberlain had given him.