by Sophia James
‘Do you always think this way?’ Inigo murmured, his sharp gaze tinged with sadness.
‘Like a chess game? Yes. It comes with the territory. One cannot be Gismond Brenley’s daughter and survive otherwise.’ She gave a rueful shrug against the sadness in his gaze. She did not want his pity. ‘No matter, that is all almost done with and I shall have a better life soon, one where I needn’t think like a chess master.’ She tried for a smile. ‘Might we take the air for a moment?’
* * *
Inigo ushered her outside, through French doors to the balcony. He understood the need. Outdoors they could be alone and they could conduct the business that had drawn them here. He wished it was more than business that compelled them outdoors. He’d enjoyed playing cards and watching her smile across the table at him. She’d been intoxicating in her victories. What a pair they’d made, leading, trumping, bidding. He wanted more of that, more of smiling Audevere, less of this…business.
On the balcony, she loosened the strings of her reticule. ‘I wanted to give you these tonight. Hold out your hands.’
He cupped his hands and she poured a small pile of jewellery into them: a strand of pearls, tiny diamond earrings, some diamond-tipped hairpins and an old-fashioned brooch studded with sapphires around a cameo. ‘It’s not much,’ she apologised when he said nothing. ‘I want you to pawn them for me, turn them into cash.’
‘These are yours?’ The import was not lost on him. This was the next step in her departure. Before she could run away, she had to have funds.
‘Yes. The ones I have access to, at least. My father keeps the other jewels locked in the safe.’ She bit her lip, her fear from the Bradford ball reasserting itself. ‘I could not get to them without him knowing.’
‘Will he not miss these if you don’t wear them?’ She needed to understand that pawning them put the plan into irrevocable motion. She would need to leave soon, before the missing jewels aroused suspicion.
‘Not before I’m gone,’ she replied staunchly, her eyes meeting his in understanding, and her bravery touched a small piece of his heart, a piece he tried to keep locked away for fear it made him vulnerable. Caring for Audevere Brenley had been hurtful business in the past. He wasn’t eager to hurt again, but perhaps it was too late for that.
Inigo thumbed the brooch. ‘And this piece? It’s not like the rest.’ It was for an older woman, not a young girl.
‘It was my mother’s.’ The admission came softly, almost shyly. No one ever spoke of Lady Brenley and he sensed her reticence to elaborate. It was one more piece of the Brenley mystery. Gismond’s wife had been dead before Gismond had come to London, his lovely daughter in tow. ‘I’m not sure my father even knows I have it,’ she confessed.
Or it might not have been allowed, Inigo thought. But the piece meant something to her. ‘Are you sure you want to sell it?’
‘I don’t have a choice.’ Audevere’s gaze drifted out over the dark gardens. For too much of her life she’d had no choice. It was not the first time he’d heard her use that phrase and he was tired of it on her behalf.
‘There’s always a choice, Aud.’ The old nickname slipped between them before he could call it back.
She turned her gaze to him, her eyes soft with memories. ‘No one’s called me that for a long time.’ Not since Collin died, he’d wager. Damn, but the night was becoming intimate, full of confidences and secrets. For a moment her body swayed towards him and he imagined she wanted more from him than a saviour to whisk her away. He was tempted to gather her to him, to kiss away her fears, her regrets, her belief that she had no choice. Instead, he took the brooch and pressed it into her hand, curling her fingers around it.
‘Keep it. I will give you the money if it comes to it,’ he said, his voice rough with emotion.
‘No.’ Her answer was swift and sure, a bolt that shattered the intimacy of the night and reminded him, perhaps reminded them both, that what lay between them was business. She gave it back to him. ‘I will not take money from you. Too many men have given me gifts, much to my detriment. I did not ask for your money. I could never repay it.’
‘I do not ask for repayment,’ Inigo argued. His mind was already running through options, already taking her plans from her and making them his own. Where could he settle her? Where could he find her property? Where could he set up an account for her? He could keep her safe and in comfort. He needn’t lose her when she gave up this world and she needn’t be abandoned… But that wasn’t the kind of help she’d come seeking.
‘Then the money will be between us for ever, a debt that will hang over me. I want no debts.’ She wanted no one to have leverage over her, that was what she meant. Inigo saw that clearly. Men like Gismond Brenley did most of their business that way, holding secrets and debts over other men in order to get what they wanted. It made him wonder what leverage Brenley had over his own daughter. What experiences had taught her to be wary of gifts? Even those given in friendship? It was just one more piece of the mystery of her, proof that the Audevere Brenley he’d once known was only a small part of who she was. For such old acquaintances, they knew very little of one another.
‘All right,’ he conceded, slipping the jewels into his jacket pocket. A woman had her pride as much as any man and Audevere’s pride had been strained. ‘I will arrange to sell them. Give me three days.’
‘We can meet at the Tetford musicale,’ she offered, all business again. He wanted the other Audevere back, the one who had blushed when he’d looked at her tonight, the one who’d coolly answered Mrs Whitfield’s coy smile with one of her own. He’d liked what he’d read in that smile. Mine. If only for tonight, if only for a little while. Did she feel it, too? This pull that tempted, that had nothing to do with the business of escaping? The pull that would be there regardless?
‘And then we must discuss leaving,’ Inigo offered gently, not wanting to break the spell, but knowing time alone was at a premium. ‘It can be simple. I can have a carriage ready any time you want. We can merely drive away. But we need to have a place to go, we need to be able to leave undetected. I want as much time as possible between our departure and your father’s discovery of your absence and that requires a plan. Will you let me make one, at least?’ He would have to give her up. They needed to return to the party for propriety’s sake and for his. If he stayed out here with her, he might be tempted to take a taste of what could never be.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, stalling him when he would have led them indoors. ‘You’ve been very good to me, Inigo.’ She moved against him then, her arms going about his neck in an unmistakable gesture. She meant to kiss him, and he was about to allow it, except for one thing: her remark about gifts.
Inigo put his hands at her waist and set her apart. ‘What are you doing, Aud?’ he asked gently.
‘I think you know very well what I’m doing.’ Her eyes danced a little as she teased him, perhaps disguising her hurt with playfulness. ‘I’ve kissed you before.’
‘A parlour game, nothing more,’ he reminded her. ‘We’re not playing games now, Aud. You are not required to kiss me in return for my assistance.’
She lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushing a bit at the gentle scold. ‘Isn’t that what damsels in distress offer their knights in shining armour? Surely such chivalry deserves a reward?’
A dark suspicion was beginning to take specific form about the sort of lessons she’d learned about men bearing gifts and anger formed with it, anger at Gismond Brenley who’d allowed his daughter to learn such a thing. What sort of father permitted men to make advances more suited to mistresses and high-priced whores? He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. ‘Damsels only kiss their knights if they want to.’
‘Maybe,’ Audevere whispered, ‘this damsel wants to. Maybe I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night, ever since you led that spade and let me trump us to victory.’ If only this were London in
Season, if only things were different between them, then he might allow this piece of flirtation.
‘Aud, we don’t want to do this.’ No matter that his body argued quite eloquently to the contrary. He did want to kiss her; his attraction to her was undeniable, a palpable thing he could feel when they were together. This was something else entirely separate from kisses for services rendered, something heady, intoxicating, with a life of its own and he could absolutely not allow it to happen. Not when she felt she owed him something, not when there was much he’d not yet settled for himself in regards to Audevere and his own feelings. He could not tarnish her with his guilt. If he ever kissed her, he wanted it to be pure, and without ulterior motive.
If?
Or did he mean when?
‘Let’s go inside. I don’t want you to catch cold.’ Not that there was any chance of that. They were both burning.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Her cheeks were still burning three days later at the Tetford musicale, at least metaphorically, every time she thought of her silliness on the balcony at the Thurstons’. Audevere smoothed her skirts and stepped into the drawing room, her maid already disposed of downstairs. She hoped to have arrived before Inigo. She could use a moment or two to compose herself before facing him. She’d had three days to process her foolishness. She understood now that she’d been swept away by the moment, by the evening, by his kindnesses. She’d mistaken that kindness for something else, perhaps misread him entirely, taken his liking for something more, fuelled by remembering the parlour-game kiss as something more than a game.
She had only herself to blame and she understood that, too. She’d been caught up in the emotional tangle of recent events. It wasn’t every day a girl decided to disappear and reinvent herself all on her own. Life was suddenly more overwhelming than it usually was and she’d been overcome by it in a moment of weakness. She would explain it all to Inigo tonight when she saw him and they could go on as they had been before: old acquaintances trading on a fragile new friendship that was meant to be short-lived.
It might even be the shortest friendship she’d had, if one considered last week as the beginning of it and next week the end of it. Next week. A bolt of reality hit her in the stomach like a punch. This time next week she would not be in a drawing room, wearing silk gowns, surrounded by elegant people. Nor the week after that, or perhaps ever. This was all going to end. Soon. No exact day of departure had been determined, but it wouldn’t be later than next week; it couldn’t be. Events were in motion that demanded she not delay.
‘There you are, my dear.’ Kindly Mrs Tetford found her in the crowd and linked her arm through hers. ‘I’m so glad you could come tonight.’ Mrs Tetford had offered to act as her chaperon and Audevere was glad for the chance to escape the watchful eyes her father had at home. ‘Tremblay is here, of course. I imagine you’ll want to see him and his friend Tintagel is here as well. They seem to be a pair this autumn. Perhaps they’ve discovered they have you in common, my dear. I’ve never had such esteemed company at my musicale.’ Mrs Tetford patted her arm knowingly and chattered away, oblivious to Audevere’s reaction. Inigo was here already.
‘I would like to see the Viscount.’ Audevere smiled at her hostess. If he was smart, he’d be with Tremblay and Inigo was nothing if not socially astute. He’d understand the most direct, least conspicuous way to meet her here would be to stay close to Tremblay.
She was not disappointed. They were no more than halfway across the room when she sighted Inigo standing beside the Viscount, the two men engaged in an animated conversation. Then Inigo spotted her and his attention changed, his gaze riveting on her progress as if she were the only woman in the room. It was enough to bring the heat back to her cheeks and to make her doubt her silliness. Perhaps what had driven her to that spontaneous, rejected kiss had not been imagined after all. Perhaps he had not rejected her efforts because he was without feeling, but because he felt too much? How could a man look at her that way and feel nothing?
‘Miss Brenley, charmed as always.’ Tremblay bent over her hand.
‘And as always, I am honoured.’ Audevere made a little dip of a curtsy and favoured him with a smile. Anyone watching them would expect it. They’d been a most studied couple this Season. She needed to play the part. The last thing she wanted right now was to present anyone with anything out of the ordinary which might be, even unintentionally, reported to her father.
She turned to Inigo. ‘How nice to see you, Lord Tintagel.’ How did one manage from here? People were beginning to take their seats. The performance would start soon and then she wouldn’t have a chance to be alone with Inigo until intermission. She needn’t have worried. Inigo had arranged even this small detail.
‘Lord Tremblay and I have seats in the back with his sister if you would care to join us?’ Inigo offered. ‘His sister is sitting there now.’ He gestured to a set of chairs near the French doors where a blonde woman sat, chatting with other matrons.
Acceptance was a matter of course, but Audevere marvelled at how smoothly it had all been arranged, how naturally it all flowed. She hated to use Tremblay and his sister as decoys, but it was surely better than trapping the man in marriage.
‘I hear the soprano is mesmerising. We can slip out once the performance starts and no one will be the wiser.’ It was only to conduct business, she told herself, but the whisper of his voice and the touch of his hand at her back didn’t stop her pulse from racing, or her mind from wanting to pretend the assignation was for more personal reasons. More silliness, she scolded herself. No matter what she thought she saw in his eyes, she’d do best to keep herself under control or else risk her escape altogether. Inigo would be wary of helping a woman who threw herself at his head.
They took their seats and Audevere exchanged small talk with Tremblay’s sister who was quite keen to make her acquaintance. She apparently had not been informed there would be no offer forthcoming from her brother. Inigo sat beside her, his very nearness causing her body to hum with an awareness that made it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long. The soprano began promptly at eight, a beautiful Italian woman with long dark hair, luminous eyes and an equally beautiful voice. Twenty minutes into the performance, Inigo quietly excused himself. Five minutes later, Audevere followed him into the gardens.
The Tetford gardens had not been shut down for autumn. The trickle of a fountain murmured at the heart of the garden and she followed the sound, finding Inigo sitting on the fountain’s edge and looking entirely at ease, as if he invited women into dark gardens all the time. Perhaps he did. It was an interesting question. He was handsome enough for a woman to follow him anywhere without much cajolery. It was time to put aside such thoughts, though.
‘Were you able to sell the jewellery?’ she asked as he looked up from the fountain’s basin.
‘Yes.’ His eyes held hers. ‘It was a decent sum. It will help cover expenses for food and clothes, when you get to where you want to go.’ He was discreetly asking her for details she didn’t have. Yet. He reached into his coat and pulled out a leather bag and handed it to her. It was satisfyingly heavy, but she knew that heaviness to be an illusion. Every time she reached into the bag, she would be lessening its weight with no guarantee of being able to refill it. How would she support herself in her new life? The enormity of what she intended to do swamped her again. This bag was all that stood between her and starvation and homelessness. Well, not quite all that stood between her and defeat. There was Inigo, too, and his honour.
‘Thank you.’ She tucked the bag inside her reticule. It weighed just enough to be believable. Inigo had not augmented it with extra coin. She’d feared he would try. But he’d understood she was serious about making her own way. She smiled, hoping he’d divine the entirety of the reasons for her thanks. She pulled the purse strings tight.
‘Will you allow me to make arrangements?�
�� Inigo offered once more as he had at the Thurstons’. This time, she was tempted to give in. He’d given her time and she had no more plan than she’d had three days ago. He took her silence as a sign of permission. ‘I can arrange for a cottage in Devonshire, on the Cornish border. Devonshire is wild, unpopulated. You would pass unnoticed, undiscovered.’
The generous offer touched her, tempted her, even as it stirred her wariness. Did he think she wouldn’t see what he intended? ‘And if I were discovered, you’d be on hand to ride to my rescue,’ she put in pointedly. ‘I seem to recall the Boscastle family seat is not far from that border. I could easily take refuge there if need be.’ She shook her head. ‘I will not have you set me up. Someone would be sure to notice the connection eventually. I mean to cut all ties. It would be too easy to have someone discover me through you.’ She softened her refusal. ‘I appreciate the offer, but you’re already in enough danger just for helping me. If my father suspects you assisted me, you will likely be the first place he comes for answers.’
‘I would welcome it,’ Inigo offered fiercely and she was reminded that he’d once complained he couldn’t publicly claim revenge through helping her. The man seated beside her, for all his smooth manners and urbane good looks, harboured a warrior inside. ‘Although he will probably think twice. Anyone who takes on me, takes on the Cornish Dukes as well. He will not seek that confrontation.’
How nice to feel so invincible, Audevere thought. But also how misleading. Everyone had a chink in their armour. Her father had taught her that—a valuable lesson, if cruelly learned. ‘Inigo, he can get to anyone,’ she tried to caution him.
‘Not this time. Listen. I have been gathering evidence over the last several years and I finally have enough to petition the King to strip him of his title. Will you allow me to make that petition known to your father?’