Aubrey blinked at her as his hopes crashed to the ground. Well, dammit. It was clear enough that some scoundrel had been playing fast with the girl’s heart and she was fool enough to come in search of the blighter.
A dark, ugly emotion twisted inside Aubrey with such violence he felt unaccountably shaken. After all, the girl was nothing to him, but ... but he looked back at her, and the certainty that the girl was a perfect, little innocent just wouldn’t be shaken off.
He wanted to kill something.
He glanced around at the door and prayed Mrs Meekham would take her time with the tea. If she’d heard that revelation she’d have the girl out of the house before you could say knife.
“Who?” Aubrey demanded, trying hard to tamp down the unfamiliar sensation of rage that was stirring in his chest. “Who are you trying to find?”
The girl bit her lip, clearly trying to consider what to do for the best. “I--I can’t tell you,” she said, though he flattered himself that there was something in her eyes that regretted that fact.
“Why ever not?” he asked with growing frustration. “If I can help you find him, you may be assured I will do so.” To give himself the pleasure of wringing his blasted neck, he added to himself.
“Oh dear,” she whispered, and then blinked hard.
Aubrey’s fears that the girl had been compromised were growing by the moment, and the horrible suspicion she might even be in the family way flitted into his brain and wouldn’t shake loose. He didn’t want to believe it, but ... Well, what was he to think?
He swallowed and took a breath, wondering who he could turn to for guidance. Celeste would have been his first choice, but she had left this evening with Falmouth to go and dine with his grandmother, the Earl’s Aunt, and they would certainly stay for a night or two. Until then, he was on his own. He didn’t dare foist the girl upon anyone else. What in damnation was he to do with her?
“I don’t see how I am to help you,” he said, trying hard not to sound impatient, “if won’t tell me your name, or the name of the fellow you’re hoping to find.”
She nodded, twisting the pretty cambric of her dress into a knot as a frown drew her delicate blonde brows together. “Yes. I do see, of course,” she said, and then looked up at him, her green eyes full of pleading, which put him in mind of a painting he’d once seen of a wood nymph. He shook his head to try to break the spell as she spoke again. “It’s just ... I think he’s in the most awful trouble. There ... there are other people looking for him too. I ... I think they mean to hurt him.” She swallowed down a sob and Aubrey was torn between the strong desire to get on his knees and vow that he’d make it all alright, and a more prosaic wish to shake her hard and demand what the devil she was on about.
Undecided, Aubrey sat staring at her in appalled silence.
“Well, then,” he said after giving himself a mental shake instead, and was rather astonished to find his voice quite calm. “It makes it rather more pressing we find him with as much urgency as possible. If you tell me who he is, I can make enquiries.”
“Yes,” Violette said, looking doubtful. “But if you make enquiries, you might attract attention, you see, and ...”
“I’m going to attract a dashed sight less attention than you are!” he exclaimed, frustration at the depths of this mystery getting the better of him.
“Well, there’s no need to shout,” she replied, those green eyes flashing with spirit.
Good Lord, and to think he’d been looking forward to a quiet evening with Tommy and a nice bottle of something. He took a breath and was about to apologise when she spoke again.
“Do you know of a place called the Seven Dials?”
Aubrey shot to his feet, so profound was the horror of that innocent enquiry. “Do I know ... Good God!”
“Oh,” she said, staring up at him and twisting the drapes of her dress into ever tighter knots. “Is it ... is it not the kind of place I ought to go? I rather thought it might not be?”
“I should say not!” Aubrey replied with some heat. “The Seven Dials!” he repeated, feeling suddenly rather unwell. It was the most notorious slum in the whole of England, possibly in the whole of Europe, it was so infamous. With no further ado, he poured himself a large glass of brandy; God knew he needed it. “What manner of man is it that you are searching for that you would think of looking for him in such a place?”
For a moment, she stared at him and he thought perhaps she would cry, but as he was beginning to realise, this vision of loveliness was made of sterner stuff. Those green eyes flashed with temper and she raised her chin.
“The very best kind of man you could imagine,” she replied, with the clear implication that he couldn’t possibly measure up.
Aubrey bristled with indignation. “The kind of man that would leave you without a word and go off to such a place is not my idea of the best kind of man!” he retorted, stung and unaccountably hurt by her words.
Violette, if that was even her name bearing in mind her reluctance to tell him it in full, got to her feet. “He didn’t!” she cried, her fists clenched and her stance rigid with fury. “He is a war hero and I haven’t seen him since he was last on leave almost three years ago! Everyone said he was dead, that he must have been killed at Waterloo, but I knew he wasn’t, and now, he’s been seen!” She took a breath after that impassioned outcry but she wasn’t finished. “They tried to keep it from me, but I overheard, and I knew they meant to carry on as though he’s dead, but he isn’t! He’s missing and something terrible has happened to him, I just know it has.” Her courage seemed to be all used up after this final outburst and she dissolved into tears.
Aubrey stared at her in bewilderment and wondered if the girl had read Mrs Radcliffe, too, for he felt like he’d been plunged into the pages of her latest novel. At least, he supposed, he need be no longer anxious about an unhappy event in nine months or so. But her tears were real enough, and his remorse for having caused them only too acute.
“Oh, now don’t cry, I’m sorry,” he said, hurrying to her side and guiding her back to the chair. He crouched at her feet and took her hand. “There, there, now,” he said, feeling quite out of his depth. “I’ll do everything I can to help you, I swear I will.”
She sniffed and looked up at him and he wondered at the fact that crying hadn’t made her look horribly unattractive, a result that seemed to assail many females. Yes, perhaps her nose was a little red, but he felt it was endearing rather than a point of disfavour. “So, you came to try to find this man, all by yourself?” Aubrey asked, assailed by nightmare visions of everything that might have befallen her. He wondered, too, at a passion that was so strong as to have endured for three long years when she’d thought him dead for most of it. “Does no one know you’re here?”
She shook her head. “I ran away,” she whispered. “And then nearly all of my money was stolen, and once I got here, I could find no one willing to take me to the Seven Dials.”
“I should think not,” Aubrey muttered, wondering if he had perhaps misjudged his fellow man and there was still some decency left somewhere in the world.
“I finally persuaded a driver with a carriage to bring me here to Bedford Square, as I heard it was close by,” she said, sniffing. “But when I told him where I really wanted to go, he got cross with me and asked how much money I had, and ... and called me all kinds of wicked names.” She gave a convulsive sob and shook her head. “Then he forced me from the carriage. He pushed me out!” she added with outrage before starting to cry again. “Oh, goodness. You must wish you’d never met me.” She blinked as a large tear rolled down her cheek.
With regret, Aubrey had to acknowledge that if she’d said that just moments earlier, he’d have agreed with his whole heart. Now, however ... there was a strange tightness in his chest and he gave a resolute shake of his head.
“I don’t. I promise you, I don’t.” He reached out and wiped the tear from her cheek. “How could I?” he asked, his voice low and soft
.
It was perhaps unfortunate that Mrs Meekham chose that particular moment to make her entrance upon this tender scene. The narrowing of her hard eyes in Aubrey’s direction made him well aware of the conclusions to which she was coming.
He got to his feet and cleared his throat, determined not to be cowed by the wretched woman.
“Mrs Meekham, thank goodness. The young lady is naturally rather overwrought,” he said, hoping he sounded like he had the measure of the situation and everything was in hand. “It is too late to contact her relatives now,” he said, sending Violette a warning look behind the woman’s back he prayed she could read. “So, she will stay here tonight. I would consider it a great service if you would see to whatever she needs, and I will spend the night with Lord Tindall. I hope in the morning we can make arrangements for Miss ...” He stalled and realised he didn’t have a name for her. “M-Miss Mystique,” he said, clutching at straws and averting his eyes from the astonished and none-too-pleased look he was getting from Violette. Well, dash it all, if she wanted to go around being mysterious, it was her own blasted fault!
“Miss Mystique?” the housekeeper replied, looking askance. “That a foreign name, is it?” she asked with suspicion.
“Oh, y-yes. Probably French,” Aubrey said, inventing wildly, with an airy wave of his hand. “Generations ago of course. Good family, the ... err ... Mystiques.” He coughed and wondered what in God’s name he was talking about and decided to leave before things got any more awkward. Though how they could, was beyond him. Glancing back at Violette’s lovely face and the annoyed glint in her eyes, he had the troubling sensation she was only too ready to show him. “I’ll ... err ... I’ll bid you ladies goodnight, then.” He gave them his most elegant bow and fled before Mrs Meekham could ask him any more difficult questions.
Aubrey was led into the relative calm of Lord Tindall’s lavishly furnished rooms with a sense of deep relief. Though he had the disquieting sensation it was a temporary reprieve.
The footman opened the door onto the dining room where he discovered that Tommy and Mr Owen Tatum, another friend since his Eton days, had started without him.
“There you are!” Tommy said, with a genial smile. His pale blue eyes were bright and honest, and the tumble of golden curls à la cherubim made him look like the kind of gullible chub who could easily be taken advantage of. Sadly, that was all too true. “Told Owen you’d be along. What kept you?”
Aubrey greeted both his friends and sat down with an exhausted thud in the elegant and rather delicate looking dining chair.
“Something amiss?” Owen asked, his heavier build and dark colouring in stark contrast to Tommy.
Aubrey sighed. He didn’t want the story of Miss Mystique’s arrival to get about, but he needed help. Owen, he could certainly trust to keep his mouth shut, but ... He eyed Tommy with a frown. The man had a heart of gold and a purse to match, but he was the worst rattle in London. Not that there was anything malicious in it; there wasn’t a devious bone in the Earl’s body, but not much of a brain, either. He sighed.
“You both have to swear to keep your mouths shut.”
Owen looked a little affronted.
“No need, Aubrey, old fellow,” Owen replied, sounding a little terse. “Wouldn’t breathe a word.”
“To the grave,” Tommy added, lifting his wine glass with a cheerful grin.
Aubrey wasn’t much comforted by that, but it wasn’t about to get any better so ...
“Truth is, I’m in the most devilish fix,” he admitted, reaching for the glass of wine that the footman was pouring out for him. He waited until Tommy, sensing an urgent need for discretion, waved the servants away, saying they’d serve themselves.
“Is it a woman?” Owen said, once the staff had retreated, and helping himself to a generous slice of pigeon pie.
“Why would you ask that?” Aubrey demanded with irritation. His success among the ladies was not to be sniffed at, perhaps, but his reputation was beyond reproach. He was always meticulously careful in his affairs and never, ever toyed with the affections of ladies of quality. Unlike their other close friend, Lord Lancaster - the owner of the horse who’d visited Tommy’s rooms in time for luncheon - who was well known as being the worst kind of rake.
Owen shrugged in reply to his demand. “Looking like that,” he said, staring at Aubrey and shaking his head. “Had to be a woman.”
“It could be a gambling debt,” Tommy remarked, pointing his fork at Owen in a bid to placate Aubrey.
“He don’t gamble to excess,” Owen mumbled around a mouthful of pie before taking a large sip of wine to wash it down. “It is, isn’t it?” he said, staring at Aubrey.
Aubrey sighed.
“There, see,” Owen said with satisfaction. “Told you so.”
“Well, you needn’t sound so smug,” Aubrey grumbled, reaching over to carve a thick slice of beef. “And it’s not as if it’s any of my problem. She just fell in my lap and the Lord knows what I’m to do with her now.”
“Where is she?” Owen asked.
“In my rooms,” Aubrey replied, feeling suddenly rather gloomy.
“In your ...” Owen dropped his knife with a clatter that pierced Aubrey’s tired brain and made him wince. “If Meekham finds her there, you’ll both be out on your ear!”
“Mrs Meekham is with her,” Aubrey replied with dignity, glaring at Owen. “And she’s not a light-skirt, before you make the assumption.”
“Too late,” Tommy replied with a smirk. “He thought that from the moment you asked us to keep our mouths shut.” For all his lack of brainpower, Aubrey had to admit Tommy could be very perceptive at times. He didn’t doubt Tommy was correct.
“Well, really!” Aubrey replied with a huff. “I’ll tell you now, she’s a lady to her toes or I’ll eat my hat.”
This observation naturally led to a dozen or more other questions, and before long, Aubrey had poured out the whole sorry tale to his avid audience.
“Well,” Owen said, shaking his head and frowning over his second cheesecake. “If you say she’s a lady, then I believe you,” he said, with no trace of sarcasm, which was just as well. “But it’s all a bit odd, you have to say.”
“Too smoky by half,” Tommy added, scratching his chin with a thoughtful expression.
Aubrey couldn’t say anything to contradict his friends, so he kept his mouth shut.
“What will you do with her, then? Can’t keep her here for long; people will talk. Most awful scandal,” Tommy added with a quite unnecessary tone of foreboding.
Aubrey tutted with annoyance and refilled his glass. If there was anything more irritating than your friends stating the obvious when you were in the suds, he had yet to discover it. But then a vision filled his mind’s eye of hair the colour of ripe corn and those remarkable eyes, and he knew he’d move heaven and earth to get the girl to safety, reputation intact. Even ... even if some other undeserving rascal was to benefit from all his hard work. Unless he truly was the war hero she described him to be, which he somehow doubted. More like the pretty little goose had been taken in by some wicked man of the town. The thought made him gloomier than ever. He wasn’t about to give her over without discovering more about the fellow, however, and the precise nature of their relationship.
First of all, he had to get the girl to trust him enough to divulge the fellow’s name. Then .... then ...
Good Lord, whatever was he to do?
Chapter 3
“Wherein the trouble begins ...”
Aubrey awoke with an alarming sense of disquiet, and then the events of the previous day fell upon his shoulders with the weight and speed of an avalanche.
The realisation that all his efforts to cudgel his brain into supplying some sort of solution as to what to do with the vision occupying his rooms had come to naught was not a happy one. It was little helped by the rather vindictive hangover that made the daylight too bright and the idea of leaving his bed at such an ungodly hour quite repuls
ive. However, Violette needed him, and so with a charitable air of self-sacrifice, he forced himself into motion and was up and at the breakfast table when Lord Lancaster sauntered in.
“Ben,” Aubrey said, nodding at the fellow who flopped down in the chair opposite. Ben yawned and helped himself to coffee. “You coming or going?” Aubrey asked, thinking it unlikely the fellow had just got up.
“Just off to bed. Thought you might want this,” he added, throwing a roll of notes at Aubrey.
Aubrey fumbled the catch, not being quite awake yet, and just grasped hold of the roll before it plummeted into his coffee. “I won!” he remarked, quite astonished.
“Well, you needn’t sound so dashed surprised,” Ben replied, sounding somewhat affronted. “Told you that horse was a sure thing.”
Aubrey bit back the remark he’d heard that too many times before and kissed the roll of notes with deep relief. Providence had, for once, smiled upon him and it would be churlish to sound ungrateful for it.
“Couldn’t have come at a better time. Thank you,” he said with obvious gratitude. Stuffing the notes away, he went to pick up his coffee when a nagging question occurred to him. “How’d you know I was here?” he asked, with a sense of deep foreboding.
Ben shrugged and reached over to pluck a bread roll from a basketful on the table.
“Knocked at yours, no answer. Where else would you be? Figured you were too bosky to stagger home.”
As home was all of forty feet from where he was sitting, Aubrey ignored the slight and concentrated on a far more pressing concern. “No answer?” he demanded. “Wasn’t Mrs Meekham there?”
Ben regarded him with horror and deep suspicion. “Why in God’s name would that old harridan be in your rooms at this hour of the morning?”
Not bothering to answer, Aubrey got to his feet so suddenly he overturned the chair as he ran out the room. He heard Ben’s shout of astonishment, but could hear nothing further over the pounding in his ears. Reaching his own door, he hammered on it to give fair warning, and then barged in to find the place as empty as he might have expected before the vision had crashed into his life.
Nearly Ruining Mr. Russell Page 2