Nearly Ruining Mr. Russell

by Emma V. Leech

  Aubrey glared at Lord Lancaster and narrowed his eyes. He did not like one bit, the over familiar way in which his too handsome friend spoke to Violette. The man was a notorious flirt with a terrible reputation; and having him anywhere near Violette, who was in quite enough trouble, made him feel hot and prickly and damned uncomfortable.

  “I’ll thank you to mind your manners, Ben,” he snapped. “That’s Miss Mystique to you!”

  “Oh no!” Violette exclaimed in dismay. “Please don’t call me that,” she begged.

  “Then give us your real name!” Aubrey challenged with a flicker of annoyance.

  Violette stilled and clamped her lips shut, a mutinous look that boded ill glittering in her eyes.

  Aubrey sighed.

  “Very well. I shall ask Mrs Dashton about Eddie, and hope I don’t look like a complete fool when she denies knowing anyone of the sort,” he said, sounding rather more terse than he’d intended, but finding the stress of the last night and this morning was wearing on his nerves.

  “I’m quite sure she won’t do that,” Violette replied, softening a little.

  Aubrey nodded and prayed she was right.

  “Hold up!” Owen said, as Aubrey moved to collect his hat and coat. “What are we supposed to do while you’re off visiting? We can’t all sit at Gunter’s all day, and where is she supposed to go tonight? If you think old Meekham won’t have a spasm if she sees Miss Mystique again, you’re out, and you can bet she’ll be watching in case you smuggle her back in.”

  This particular and unwelcome truth sank in and Aubrey groaned.

  “I have a snug little flat that’s available,” Ben said, his tone rather too nonchalant.

  “No!” Aubrey snapped, infuriated by the suggestion.

  “Hold up, Aubrey,” Owen said, lifting a placating hand. “We can hardly take her to a hotel, now can we?” He stared at Ben, lifting one eyebrow. “I assume the place is discreet?”

  Ben laughed, his mouth quirking up into a slightly twisted smile. “You assume correctly.”

  “What happened to Mrs Pierce?” Tommy asked, frowning. “Did you finally manage to move her on?”

  Aubrey coughed and glared at Tommy, who as ever was never very quick on the uptake.

  “Lord Gosford happened to Mrs Pierce,” Ben replied, grinning and showing a row of very even white teeth. “I was never more grateful to my fellow man. She was an expensive piece and quarrelsome to boot. She goes with my good wishes.”

  “Were you her protector?” Violette asked, her face alive with curiosity.

  Aubrey kicked Ben under the table and his friend let out a yelp. “What was that for?” he demanded, his handsome face full of indignation.

  Aubrey leaned closer to him hissed in an undertone. “Ladies present.”

  A considering look flitted into Ben’s eyes as he whispered back to him. “Are you quite sure?”

  Aubrey felt a wave of heat roll down his back accompanied by the strong desire to smash his friend’s face in. Something of this must have shown on his own visage as Ben’s eyebrow’s shot up. He held up his hands in surrender.

  “I see that you are,” he replied. “Forgive me. But the offer of the flat is still open and I give it in the spirit of friendship. I mean to play no underhand tricks, I assure you.”

  Aubrey stared at him, only slightly mollified, but as he had no other options, he gave a taut nod. “Very well. But we can’t leave her there alone. She’ll need an abigail.”

  “An ...” Ben shook his head. “Good luck with that!”

  Aubrey let out a huff of frustration. “It’s only for appearance’s sake. She needn’t actually be an abigail, just a female who can ...” He came to an abrupt halt as an idea occurred to him. “Sarah!”

  “Oh yes,” Tommy said, nodding. “Devilish good idea. Good sort, Sarah. Do anything for you, Aubrey.”

  Aubrey coloured a little and gave Tommy a look that even he understood meant to hold his tongue. Tommy coughed and looked awkward.

  “Good notion,” he mumbled.

  Aubrey ignored the curious look that Violette was sending in his direction and got to his feet. “Very well then, go and see Sarah and then take them both to Ben’s flat, and for heaven’s sake, be discreet!”

  In the moments taken for everyone to don their gloves and hats Aubrey took Tommy aside for a quiet word. “Under no circumstances let Ben alone with her,” he said, his voice urgent. Tommy nodded and patted Aubrey’s arm in a reassuring manner. “Don’t fret. We’ll see her safely installed and make sure Ben comes away with us.”

  Aubrey let out a sigh of relief. “Good man, Tommy.”

  ***

  Aubrey, whilst he would never have considered himself or wanted to have been thought of as a Corinthian, a Blood, or a Libertine, flattered himself to think he was a man of the world. He’d been on the town, as the expression went, for some years now and he knew how things went on. He’d never been taken in by coves or scoundrels, even at his greenest, and whilst he’d never aspired to be a rake, his experience with the ladies was not negligible.

  However, standing on the doorstep of the fine house on King’s Street with the intention of asking to speak with the most expensive and dashing high fliers in London, he experienced a qualm of misgiving. The lady might not be respectable, but she was powerful and wealthy, and only entertained the very select. There was a very real chance she would refuse to see him. He tried not to feel relieved by the idea.

  How this Eddie had ever come into her sphere was something Aubrey dearly wanted to know. So taking his courage in both hands he knocked and said a quiet prayer.

  Whilst the house looked in every way respectable, the hulking figure who opened the door was the most unlikely-looking butler Aubrey had ever seen. The brute had fists like ham hocks and Aubrey doubted that anyone ever crossed the threshold who wasn’t welcome.

  He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, presenting his card.

  “Mr Aubrey Russell. I have a delicate matter of great urgency to discuss with Mrs Dashton if she would be so good as to spare me a moment of her time.”

  The butler returned a sceptical expression but said nothing, merely asking Aubrey to wait while he ascertained if the lady was at home.

  To his surprise after a brief wait he was shown into a refined drawing room and told that Mrs Dashton would be down shortly.

  Aubrey surveyed the room with interest. It was tastefully done, if masculine in style and practically screamed wealth and power, albeit with a very cut glass accent. He wondered how many powerful men had seen the inside of this room. Broken from his thoughts by the sound of a door opening, he looked up and involuntarily caught his breath at the sight of the lady herself.

  Aubrey had seen her before, but only at a distance, and his imperfect impression of her recalled from those fleeting images had not done her justice. Now he perfectly understood why this woman was so much in demand.

  She was exquisite.

  Her lovely face was framed by thick, glossy black curls and dark eyes, and though well past the first flush of youth her skin was perfect and remarkably unlined. Dressed in a pale amber sarsnet morning dress with full sleeves, a l’Evêque, and a bust line low enough to make Aubrey stare, she was simply stunning.

  “Mrs Dashton,” he said, forcing himself past a stupefied silence. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I do hope you can forgive me for intruding upon you in such an impolite manner.”

  “Not at all, Mr Russell,” she said, bestowing him with a warm smile that seemed as genuine as it was appealing. “You offer a diversion from a very dull day, and I must say I am intrigued in the extreme as to this delicate and urgent matter you wish to discuss with me.”

  “Ah,” Aubrey said, colouring and feeling discomfited all over again. “Yes. I’m afraid it’s going to sound rather a rum kind of question, but I hope you’ll bear with me.”

  “I’d be delighted to, Mr Russell,” the lady said with a merry laugh, settling herself d
own with grace and an expectant air. “Indeed, I am all agog. But do please be seated and make yourself comfortable. I have ordered some tea, and then you must tell me everything.”

  Aubrey did sit down and felt a good deal more relaxed under the warmth of her lovely smile and her charming presence. With a jolt of anxiety, he realised it would be only too easy to tell Mrs Dashton everything, and privately wondered how many men’s secrets she had clasped to her ample bosom.

  Tea was served and Aubrey put quite at ease with Mrs Dashton’s easy small talk of parties and various people they held in common, a remarkable number in fact considering her scandalous reputation. Then, however, the footman withdrew and Aubrey brought the interview around to his reason for calling.

  “I have come, Mrs Dashton, to enquire about a man, who I believe is known to you as Eddie?”

  To his horror her eyes filled and her hand covered her heart. “Oh, poor darling Eddie,” she said on a sigh, shaking her head and looking so sorrowful that he wanted to beg her forgiveness. “He was killed at Waterloo, you know, and so brave. I lost count of the number of times he was mentioned in Despatches.”

  “Forgive me for causing you any distress, Madame,” he said with the utmost sincerity, but was relieved that she had immediately assumed they were speaking of the man he wanted. “But ... I have been sent here by someone who was intimately acquainted with him and ... and she has been informed that he has been seen, right here in London and only days ago.”

  He was unsurprised when Mrs Dashton stared at him in shock and awaited with trepidation the moment when the butler would be summoned to throw him out on his ear. But after a moment, her face cleared and she seemed to give the matter some thought.

  Aubrey waited while she sipped her tea, and when she spoke again, her voice told him she did not find his story as preposterous as he might have supposed.

  “They never found a body, you know,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “But it was such a terrible battle ...” She broke off and shook her head. “I’ve spoken to a number of men who were there, they ... well, they will never forget the horror of it, I think.” She looked back at him, frowning a little. “I remember there was a report of him being injured - a head wound, I believe - but he refused treatment and returned to his post.”

  “You think it possible, then?” Aubrey asked, unsure as to whether he was pleased or disappointed by the idea that he had such news to give to Violette. “He really might have survived?”

  Mrs Dashton gave a laugh then, a delighted burst of sound that made her eyes glitter. “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. “If anyone could have survived, and in such a bizarre manner, then it would be Eddie.”

  Aubrey fell silent. The more he heard of Eddie, the more he understood how a lovely, young girl like Violette could have been dazzled by him. Any hopes he might have harboured of replacing the man in her affections fizzled away to nothing.

  He looked up to find Mrs Dashton watching him with interest.

  “Forgive me,” he said with an awkward smile. “I was wool gathering.”

  “Who sent you here?” she asked, the words pointed though her tone was gentle enough.

  “That’s ... difficult to explain,” he replied with an apologetic smile.

  “Ah, a secret,” she said, looking rather delighted. “Do I detect a romance?”

  Aubrey gave a laugh and was startled by the bitterness of the sound. “Perhaps,” he acknowledged. “The truth is that I have been entrusted with someone’s safety, and this person believes that Eddie didn’t die at Waterloo, that he is in fact alive, and that there are people who mean to do him harm.”

  Her face hardened and Mrs Dashton set down her tea cup with a clatter. She got to her feet, skirts sweeping as she moved to the window.

  “Mrs Dashton?” he queried, wondering what she knew, and if she’d tell him. “Do you think the story plausible?” he asked and was taken aback when she gave a curt nod.

  “Of course it’s plausible!” she exclaimed. “If Eddie is truly alive ...” He waited, watching as she covered her mouth with her hand. “My God, he would be in the greatest danger.”

  “Why?” Aubrey demanded, wondering what on earth he was missing.

  “Do you know nothing of the man you have been asked to search for?” Mrs Dashton demanded, clearly incredulous.

  “Nothing!” Aubrey replied, throwing his hands up. “Save that he was called Eddie and believed killed at Waterloo and has since been sighted, hale and hearty.”

  Mrs Dashton gave him a pitying look and shook her head. “Well, I would suggest that the eighth Marquess of Winterbourne might find himself just a mite unhappy if he discovered the seventh marquess had just come back from the dead.”

  “The Marquess of ...” Aubrey blinked at her as his heart dropped to his boots as the realisation struck home.

  Violette was in love with Edward Greyston, the Earl of Winterbourne.

  Good God. Everyone knew about the courageous marquess and his heroic exploits. The very best kind of man - Violette’s impassioned cry came back to haunt him. She’d never spoken a truer word. Though Aubrey had never spoken with the marquess directly, he remembered a mountain of a man, handsome and debonair, with laughing eyes and the kind of charisma that would bring the world to his feet.

  With difficulty Aubrey forced his own jealousy and disappointment to one side. A man’s life might be in danger, and Aubrey would not sit nursing his own misfortune at his expense, especially not such a man as Edward Greyston.

  He looked up as Mrs Dashton sat beside him and her warm hand covered his in a shockingly bold move. “Forgive me, Mr Russell,” she said, her voice low and enquiring. “I think perhaps I have unwittingly delivered you a blow.”

  Aubrey laughed and shook his head. “You are mistaken, Madame, it was just a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

  Mrs Dashton looked as though she didn’t believe a word of it, and he prayed she would probe no further. He doubted he could withstand the invitation to unburden himself of his troubles that shone so clearly in her lovely eyes.

  “Then at least promise me you will call on me again tomorrow,” she said, her voice firm and not allowing him any chance of refusal. “I will make enquiries of my own into the matter - discreetly, you understand,” she added with a warm smile. “I hope perhaps I might be able to turn up something that might be of use to you and your ... friend.”

  Somehow Aubrey felt sure she knew just why his peace had been cut up, but he found he couldn’t reproach her for it. There was no pity or amusement in her expression, only a tacit understanding he would act for the best, despite his own hopes.

  “You are too kind, Mrs Dashton,” he replied with real gratitude but she laughed off his thanks and instead reached out and traced the line of his jaw with one elegant finger.

  “Not at all, Mr Russell, and if perhaps you find yourself a little lonely, if your own plans do not come to fruition, I do hope you will come and call on me again.” Aubrey felt his breath snag in his throat at the idea. “You can rest assured of a very warm welcome,” she added, her voice a low purr of invitation.

  “I--I ...” Aubrey stammered and then cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I do not inhabit the same glittering world as you do, Mrs Dashton,” he said, the words apologetic as he tried to explain what she must surely know without offering her insult. He couldn’t afford to keep her for a week, even if he wanted to, which he was rather surprised to discover he didn’t.

  “Oh, call me Dolly,” she said, smiling at him as her finger trailed across his lower lip. “And not all of my intimates are dukes you know,” she added with a wink. “I can afford to pick my own friends nowadays.” As if to illustrate the point she leaned closer and replaced her finger with her lips.

  Aubrey was so startled that he didn’t move an inch. (There was also the fact he was a gentleman and wouldn’t have offended her for the world.) But that fact was severely regretted soon after the bellow of rage that assailed his ears from the direction of the door
.

  Mrs Dashton gasped as both of their heads turned towards the sound and Aubrey recognised the frankly terrifying figure of Viscount Debdon bearing down on him with murder in his eyes.

  “No, Chauncey, darling!” she shrieked as the hulking fellow clutched hold of Aubrey’s lapels and pulled him to his feet.

  A fighter, Aubrey may not have been, but he was noted as a wonderful dancer and there wasn’t a thing wrong with his reactions. He sidestepped and ducked, avoiding a devastating right hook that was famous at Jackson’s and beyond, and narrowly avoided the follow up from the jabbing left that he felt sure would have broken his nose.

  All the while Mrs Dashton tried her best to intervene, scolding her irate lover for being a pig-headed idiot while Aubrey tried not to die.

  A moment later and Aubrey wasn’t quite sure what happened, but the brute of a butler appeared, levelled the viscount with a blow that snapped his head back and laid him out cold, before grasping hold of Aubrey and propelling him towards the front door. Here he was summarily ejected, tripping down the front steps with such speed he could not right himself and fell in a heap in the road.

  The scream of horses was heard and he looked up in horror to see hooves crashing down upon him. Letting out a curse he rolled into the gutter and looked up just in time to see a furious elderly lady leaning out of the carriage window and opening her mouth to demand what on earth was going on.

  This vision, which was frankly more intimidating than anything Aubrey had yet seen that day, stared at him with horror, icy grey eyes full of outrage.

  “Aubrey!” exclaimed a voice that had terrified him since he was a very small boy in short coats.

  Aubrey blanched and scurried to his feet, brushing the worst of the filth from his clothes with little success. He stood taller and hoped in vain she was unaware of the address he’d been ejected from and hadn’t seen the manner in which it had happened.

  “Good afternoon, Grandmother.”

  His grandmother stared at the door of the house he’d just been propelled through and her gaze darkened further.