Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 1 of 2

by Sophia James

  She took a moment to process what he was telling her, the power of it causing hope to blossom. ‘You mean to use it as leverage against him, to prevent him from acting dishonestly again,’ she surmised. ‘He may keep his title as long as he refrains from abusing his position and you will be there to ensure that he doesn’t.’ It was genius to take a page from her father’s book of tricks and leverage him instead. But it was also too dangerous. ‘He would never allow such a thing to stand.’

  ‘He could do nothing about it,’ Inigo protested. ‘The King may enjoy the money your father’s endeavours bring to the royal coffers, but he will not want money with so much scandal attached to it, nor the disfavour of the Cornish Dukes. If the King has to choose where to confer favour—the Cornish Dukes or Sir Gismond Brenley—your father knows what his choice will be. In one move I can avenge Collin and give you your freedom. You needn’t spend your life looking over your shoulder, fleeing at the slightest suspicion of discovery. You could take the Devonshire cottage, Aud, and be settled, perhaps not even give up your name.’

  In that moment, with the moon overhead, the fountain trickling peacefully beside them, his eyes on her so trusting in the belief that every word he spoke was the truth, she felt her heart surge, felt it fill with emotion. He truly believed he could achieve all this with a piece of paper and she wanted to believe it was true, too, wanted to forget there were other secrets she was keeping, other secrets she had to keep for the well-being of anyone who sought to get too close to her. ‘I can’t take the cottage. It wouldn’t be right even if it were possible.’ How long would it be before one or both of them felt she owed him? How long would it be before her father discovered her and wielded her secret against Inigo’s petition to the King?

  ‘I ask for nothing in return, Aud.’ He furrowed his brow and she watched the awful thought come to him as he remembered all she’d hinted at regarding men and favours. ‘You don’t think I’m setting you up to be my mistress, do you?’ His affront was obvious; his cool eyes blazed. ‘I would not dishonour Collin’s memory by treating the woman he loved in such a manner.’

  Collin? Was that why he hadn’t kissed her? She’d found the only honourable man in England, a man who wanted her, but wouldn’t act on it out of respect for a dead friend. She’d found quite the man to be her champion and it frustrated her even as it piqued her curiosity and caused her stomach to flutter.

  She shouldn’t have touched him, not after last time, but her hand acted on its own, sweeping his jaw with gentle fingers where dark stubble was starting to sprout. ‘It’s not just the cottage, Inigo. It’s all your plan. It will never stand. Paper can’t stop a bullet or a sword. He will send his men and they will do the dirty work for him in an alleyway.’

  ‘They would have their work cut out for them,’ he growled. She nodded. She’d seen him fence with Collin and there’d been shooting matches on summer picnics. He was skilled with both. But it wouldn’t matter. Her father would never allow the odds to be even or fair.

  What a rarefied world Inigo must live in to assume people would play by the rules. She would love him for it, if she could afford to. ‘There’s no point in debating it. We haven’t much time left and you won’t change my mind tonight. There are other things we must decide,’ she added swiftly when he made to protest. She didn’t want to hear his arguments for fear she might start to believe them.

  What if she could believe them? What if she could have it all—her freedom, her father tethered? What sweet relief that would be, to think that scenario would allow her to keep Inigo, too, a constant champion, ready to ride to her rescue. For Collin’s sake, the reminder whispered. He’d made that plain tonight. He’d not kissed her for Collin’s sake and he was helping her for Collin’s sake. Not for hers. Not for his own and not because he wanted to, but because he felt obliged to the memory of his dead friend.

  ‘When shall we leave?’ she asked, abruptly bringing them back to business.

  Inigo blew out a breath, perhaps as frustrated as she. ‘I am working on something with Tremblay to get your father out of town. Can you manage three more days?’ he asked.

  She drew a breath. ‘Yes.’ Three days. A lifetime of waiting and yet not much time at all to assemble what she needed and walk away from all she knew.

  * * *

  Inigo Vellanoweth would not walk away from tonight’s escapade unscathed. Gismond Brenley dismissed his two footmen with strict orders to see to it. The kind Mrs Tetford had been more than happy to oblige him with a report of his daughter’s activities in exchange for erasing her husband’s rather extensive gaming debt which threatened their ability to stay in London. She’d been prompt, too. It was just after eleven. With luck, his men would find Vellanoweth on his way home.

  Brenley poured himself a celebratory drink. It was not a bad night’s work, being able to extract retribution from a certain thorn in his side. As to whether or not Audevere had invited Vellanoweth’s attentions was not clear. Mrs Tetford could not say, only that Vellanoweth had arrived with Tremblay and Audevere had been all that was proper, right up until Vellanoweth had disappeared into the gardens and Audevere had followed him out.

  It did intrigue him to consider what Vellanoweth might want with Audevere. It was no secret to him that Vellanoweth was hunting him, looking for any opportunity for revenge. Last year’s debacle had made that clear. Was he looking to seduce information out of Audevere? To turn her head with memories of times past? Or did he seek to ruin her in an attempt to strike out at him? Well, he was about to learn that Audevere had a very protective father.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  She was holding something back, hiding some key piece of information. It was the only reason Inigo could come up with that explained her reticence on his walk back to Jermyn Street. He’d forgone his carriage in the hope the night air would clear his head. The evening had been enlightening, as had the card party before it. Every time they met, he discovered a new facet of her, was given a new insight into who Audevere Brenley truly was: a young woman who had managed to maintain the hope of a better life even when faced with years of disappointment.

  One would never have imagined such depth of character and perseverance lay beneath the surface of the beautiful heiress. One would never have imagined a beautiful heiress would require such qualities. It was easy to believe that beautiful girls had beautiful lives. From what he’d glimpsed, her life had not been beautiful, nor was the term ‘disappointments’ an adequate word to describe the tragedies she’d suffered: the loss of a beloved mother, leaving behind the quiet life she knew for the glitter of London, entering young womanhood with only an avaricious father to guide her—a father who had not hesitated to use her beauty as a commodity to grease the wheels of his own rise to notoriety and riches.

  Inigo kicked at a pebble on the street. It was no wonder her father kept such close watch on her. He wanted to be the sole proprietor of her attentions and Brenley must fear greatly what she could do to him. By running, she was taking away one of his greatest assets. He kicked another pebble, with more force this time, anger heating his blood at thoughts of what she must have endured. She had not shared details, but he hadn’t needed them. What she implied was horrific enough.

  He had younger sisters, both of a similar age as Audevere when she must have first come to London. He could not fathom his father using them as Audevere had been used. Even if his father had tried, Inigo would not have allowed it. But that was the point. Audevere had had no one to stand up for her. Until now. He would protect her for as long as she would allow it. He was back to the start, where his thoughts had begun: why wouldn’t she allow it? He didn’t believe it was only thoughts of propriety that held her back, any more than he believed she’d refused his offer of money purely because of her inability to pay him back or her desire not to be beholden to anyone. She wanted no ties. Why? The easy answer was protection. She wanted to protect those around her, but from what? He wasn
’t afraid of her father, nor did he need protecting from Brenley. What else could there be? Something, that was certain.

  What was not certain was how long his willpower would hold out against the onslaught of her temptation. It had lasted this long and it would have to hold a bit longer. Somehow. But his mental fortitude was on its own these days with nothing to hide behind. His carefully constructed barriers had fallen, laid low by Audevere’s revelations as early as the Bradfords’ ball. In the first days following the loss of Collin, she’d made an obvious and ready target for his grief and his anger. She had killed Collin by breaking off the engagement when she knew he was already hurting. Anger and hate had been convenient emotions to shovel over his own hurt and regret, burying them deep. He’d tried to bury his longing along with the rest. Logic had been his friend. How could he desire a woman who’d killed his best friend? Whom he despised? That barrier had fallen first. She wasn’t the enemy. She was as much a victim of Brenley’s machinations as Collin or Eliza and as much in need of his help as either of them. Once his mind had understood that, there was no further obstacle to promising his assistance.

  As long as Collin had been present, there’d been every reason to restrain himself from pursuing Audevere. But Collin was gone now. No engagement, no best friend, prevented him from taking the kisses Audevere had offered, or even initiating those kisses himself. All that remained was guilt and honour, and their strength was mightily taxed these days.

  He tried to stoke the old guilt as he ticked off the streets towards Jermyn Street, the neighbourhoods quiet, the streets empty in the autumn darkness. No one was about. It seemed as if he had the city to himself as he brought forth the usual arguments: she would always be Collin’s former fiancée, that would always remain the foundation of their association. They would not have met if not for Collin. Was it right for him to desire her now that Collin had no claim because he’d also desired her when Collin had a legitimate claim? More to the point, was it right to act on that desire now that Collin was dead and she was vulnerable? She would have sought comfort in his arms if he’d offered them. The two of them were not foolproof. It had happened before—no comforting had been required as an excuse—just the flimsy façade of a parlour game at a birthday party. He remembered that night as if it were yesterday. It was one of his favourite, and yet most uncomfortable, memories, something to keep him warm as he walked.

  It had been late and someone had brandied the punch. Rosenwyn Treleven had been holding court like a queen from her birthday throne. She was eighteen that day and headed to London in a month for her first Season.

  ‘We should play Patipata,’ she’d cried. ‘Ayleth shall be Patipata—’ she’d named her sister ‘—and I shall be the blindman calling out the objects and Patipata will say who will kiss them.’

  Ayleth had come forward, laughing, and laid her head in Rosenwyn’s lap while everyone gathered in a circle.

  When all had been ready, Rosenwyn had closed her eyes and pointed unknowingly at her first object—a vase. ‘Who shall kiss that, Patipata?’

  As Patipata, Ayleth had not been able to see how the circle had organised itself. She’d called a name arbitrarily. ‘Cassian!’

  Everyone had laughed as Cassian made a grand spectacle of kissing the vase.

  On the game had gone, with much humour. Eaton had had to kiss Vennor and Vennor had had to kiss the punch bowl, and Collin had ended up kissing the dog who’d loped in, and so on, until the room had been a riot of laughter, perhaps helped along by the punch in the bowl.

  But then, Rosenwyn’s unseeing finger had landed on Inigo. ‘Patipata, who shall kiss that?’

  Inigo had stiffened. He had hoped to escape unnoticed. His friends were so much better at party games than he was, so much more relaxed and willing to do the absurd, to be laughed at and to laugh.

  ‘Audevere shall kiss it,’ had come Ayleth’s reply.

  There had been a general chorus of laughter and oohing, a few comments directed jokingly at Collin. He’d tried to stop it, suggesting that such a thing was inappropriate, that perhaps Collin would mind very much if someone else kissed his intended. But Collin had been no help.

  ‘It’s just a game, Inigo, there is no harm in it!’ Collin had laughed off the demur.

  Audevere had approached, making a bawdy show of it as she crossed the room with an exaggerated swing of her hips and settled down on his lap side-saddle. She’d wet her lips, her eyes locking on his. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were afraid to kiss me,’ she’d teased.

  Not afraid to kiss her—heavens, no. He’d dreamed of kissing her. He’d been afraid he’d like it, that the kiss would live up to the best of his secret fantasies and everyone would know. Worst of all, Collin would know.

  She’d leaned in, her mouth capturing his, a soft press of lips against his own. He might have survived that—it had been a simple kiss—but the brandied punch had got the better of the room. Eaton had egged them on, suggesting they could do better than that, and Audevere had always been bold, always up for a lark.

  Her arms had gone about his neck, her hands tangling in his hair, and her mouth had opened to him, tempting him. He’d been able to smell her, all vanilla and early spring. He’d felt her, her curves soft against his suddenly not-so-soft body. His blood had run hot and he hadn’t been able to resist the chance the game offered. His tongue had sought out hers and she’d answered, hers playing a flirty game of tag with his until the room was hooting and Eaton had called pax, Patipata’s penance satisfied.

  Audevere had slid off his lap and made a playful curtsy to the circle before crossing the room back to Collin’s side.

  Collin had reached for her and drawn her to him, welcoming her back with a dramatic stage kiss. ‘That’s my girl. She’s up for anything.’

  Inigo might as well have been doused with a bucket of cold water. The sight of her in Collin’s arms had been reminder enough that their kiss had been all play, while Collin’s kiss was real. Very soon, Collin would be her husband and entitled to more than kissing from her.

  Only, it hadn’t turned out that way. Inigo was here and Collin was gone. The sinner had lived, the saint had died and the damsel between them was in distress. He gave the flames of guilt another hard stoke. Had he wished such a thing into existence? Done something that unconsciously facilitated that reality? Had he ignored a cry for help from Collin? Overlooked some sign? Why did he deserve this chance to claim Audevere? He was the one with the dirty secret, the one who should have been punished. Perhaps he was being punished by being forced back into proximity with Audevere, the cause of his sin.

  He’d worked hard over the years to try to forget that single kiss. Obviously, he’d been unsuccessful. Did she think about it? Or about any of those days? How she used to tease him for being so serious? How she would lag behind on strolls to try to engage him? To make him laugh? To provoke him? Or was he the only one who kept a visual scrapbook of each moment, each conversation in his mind? Were those encounters easily forgotten by her? A handful of moments in an ocean full of similar moments? Better moments? He should forget them. Perhaps he was ridiculous in holding on to them and ascribing them significance they didn’t possess. Although it was hard to believe that based on the last week. Perhaps that was what lay at the heart of the new temptation: he was no longer the only one wanting, desiring. Of course, he could explain the source of her desire. She was in desperate straits and he was her way out. Seeking comfort from him was an entirely natural evolution of her feelings. Eventually, when she was safe, those feelings would fade. But until then, it made things between them deuced difficult.

  Inigo’s thoughts absorbed him, as desire and logic, past and present, chased each other around in his mind. Too much so. He did not realise he was being followed until it was dangerously late. The three men surrounded him two streets from his rooms, at a place where Jermyn Street crossed with St James’s. During the
day, the intersection would be bustling, but not this time of night, not in the autumn with fine society out at their hunting boxes in the country. The novelty of having the city to himself was fraught with peril now.

  Inigo took the path of least resistance, reaching for his purse, glad he’d given Audevere her share already. He hadn’t the patience for cutpurses tonight. He shook it, rattling the coins for them to hear. ‘This is what I have, gentlemen.’

  ‘We’re not after your money, guv’nor,’ the tallest of the three growled, a flick of his hand revealing a sharp-edged knife.

  Not the usual cutpurses, then, Inigo thought. The situation immediately turned serious.

  ‘I’m not obliged to offer anything more.’ In a fluid motion, Inigo withdrew the blade sheathed in his walking stick.

  These were not good odds—three to one in the dark on slippery cobblestones, with no aid in sight—even if he was technically better trained. Cutpurses didn’t care if one trained at Jackson’s and Manton’s. He gave a nod to the tall man with the blade. If he could face each one separately, he had a better chance of dispatching them. Should they decide to rush him all at once, he would be hard-pressed.

  ‘You first, since this was your idea.’ Perhaps the tall man was all talk. Perhaps the sight of real steel would help him rethink things.

  ‘Me first, he says, laddies.’ The tall man spat into the gutter. ‘I’d say we’re a bit more democratic than that.’

  The trio fanned out and began to advance. Inigo swung hard and suddenly at the man to his right, catching him before he was in position, his blade slicing the man’s arm with a deep cut that drew blood and a yelp. The man retreated, clutching his wound.

  Inigo pivoted left, his swordstick deflecting the downward slice of the blade just in time before it found his shoulder. He pressed the man back while kicking out at the other assailant, keeping him at a distance, but the other assailant wasn’t deterred. He jumped for Inigo, the force of his weight pushing Inigo off balance and taking them both to the ground. It was an ignoble fight now, wrestling and punching on the cobblestones, trying to dodge the man’s stabbing blade. His swordstick was too long to be of much use here. Inigo landed a punch to the man’s jaw with enough force to push him away so he could scramble to his feet but he’d no sooner gained his legs then the second assailant was on him, grabbing him about the neck from behind.