"I'll be right back, my lady," Frost said to Lavinia in a clipped tone, not wanting this man's disturbance to force some of Harry's men to leave their posts to take the vagrant back to Bow Street for questioning. Frost felt the crush of people around him, never doubting for a moment that Lavinia would be perfectly safe. Practically every eye in London was upon her. He would be gone but a moment. What could happen?
Frost should have been expecting something like this, however, for when he approached the vagrant, the slovenly man leapt up with the strength of a well-muscled pugilist and not someone who lived on the streets, taking the steps two at a time - directly towards Lavinia. When the man moved his head to the side and his battered hat fell away for a moment, Frost caught a glimpse of graying curls and he knew. It was Balon. He was after Lavinia. And the bloody bastard would have a head start.
As Frost bounded away from her and towards the altercation at the bottom of the steps, Lavinia reached out a hand to stop him but then quickly pulled back. What right did she have to stop him? He was not bound to her, no matter what Sarah had implied earlier. This was simply Frost being Frost. For all of his claims that he was a devil-may-care sort, at his heart, he followed the rules, and intervening here was something he likely saw as his duty. After all, he was a gentleman at heart, even if he did not like to admit it.
Just as he viewed her as someone he had a duty to protect. Not out of love, but out of honor.
Given his probing questions earlier, Lavinia knew that Frost's suspicions regarding her past had been growing. She had known that with a Bow Street Runner for a friend, it was unlikely that she could keep her past hidden from him forever. Frost had hinted that he knew about Balon, but he had said nothing about knowing the man was in Town. Or that he had approached Lavinia herself. If Frost knew about the incident earlier in the day on Bond Street, he would likely have never allowed her out of the house this evening. That was simply his way.
No, Lavinia had decided that it was best to deal with Balon on her own. And that meant going away with him this evening. For she had no doubt that he would carry out his threats to hurt Sarah and her sisters. Even if Lavinia left with him, the Frenchman still might do as he had threatened, but that was a chance she had to take. If there was any hope at all of saving the Tillsbury women from the sort of fate that she had endured, Lavinia would not hesitate. She was already ruined, especially as it was likely that someone, somewhere would eventually recognize her. Frost's sisters were still innocents and should remain that way. Balon would not touch them if Lavinia could prevent it.
As Frost entered the fray at the bottom of the steps, Lavinia took a moment to appreciate his strength, both physical and mental. He would defend those he cared about, his family. He would also defend what he viewed as right and proper. And as she lay somewhere in the middle, that left him in a terrible position. Frost cared for her but short of marrying her, there was no way Lavinia could remain a part of his life. Her grandfather had likely disowned her long ago, and she could not face going back to Castle Dunlein only to be turned away. So it was extremely unlikely that she could ever fully rejoin society under her true name. She could continue with the ruse that she was a Haverfield but someone would eventually discover the truth. Or she could become Frost's mistress. Those were likely the only choices left open to her if she wanted to remain by his side and in his bed.
If she took up residence at the love nest on Gracechurch Street, Lavinia would become the whore that she had been called over the years. A better class of whore, but a whore just the same. And she did not think that her heart could endure such a humiliation. To be with Frost, but never fully have him as her own? To watch him wed another, more proper lady? To watch that same, unknown woman grow round with his child, his official heir, while Lavinia herself could only deliver him a bastard? No, she could not do that. Not to herself and not to him. Even with as much as had been stripped away from her, she had more pride than that.
That was why Lavinia had decided at some point during the day that she would go with Balon tonight and then find a way to eventually outwit him and slip away. That would mean she would likely be running for the rest of her life, always looking over her shoulder, but what other choice did she have? Women in general did not have many choices in life, but a woman in her situation? Well, they had even less. She had to be practical about the situation, as distasteful as it might be.
When Lavinia saw the vagrant break away from Frost and the footmen, she moved back with the crowd as the man began bounding up the steps towards the theater. Except that vagrants did not bound. Did they? She did not think so, at least not as this man did. Then the man looked up, directly at her, and Lavinia caught a glimpse of hard black eyes. Michel Balon. He was here! And she instinctively knew what he wanted. He had come for her, not trusting that she would do as he had commanded.
Lavinia turned to run, hoping to flee back down the steps and into the safety of Frost's arms, but Balon was quicker and he grabbed her wrist as he sped by, yanking her along. She fell once, her legs tangling in her heavy skirts, but he gave no quarter, dragging her up the steep incline with him and nearly wrenching her arm from her socket in the process.
When she opened her mouth to scream, Balon allowed his coat to fall open a bit. "Scream and I will begin firing." His words were chilling and there were at least four dueling pistols tucked into the waistband of his trousers. "I will assume you do not wish the blood of innocents on your pretty little hands."
Lavinia could not risk others being hurt for her sake. She struggled as best she could but rather than rushing to her aid, the people she and Balon passed looked on in horror, likely thankful that it was not them that was being so disgraced. Or having the misfortune to be manhandled by a vagrant. In fact, it was as if the sea of people parted just for them as Balon dragged her across the theater's first terrace and towards the far right side of the building where the common people were entering from a side street.
Behind her, Lavinia could hear raised voices and prayed that it was Frost coming to rescue her. But he was only one man. He did not even have his friends nearby to call upon for assistance. They had lost sight of Harry and Rayne in the crush of traffic surrounding the theater. Frost had other friends, certainly, but they were unlikely to be anywhere in the area, which Balon likely knew.
She tried yanking free again, but her slippers slipped and slid on the marble steps and Lavinia lost her footing again, this time injuring her knee. Once more, Balon yanked her to her feet with a growl.
"If I didn't need your fortune, cher, I would not be doing this, but desperate men do desperate things." He neatly dodged an older man with a cane, though Lavinia's skirts almost became tangled once more in the process, slowing them down a good bit, which clearly annoyed Balon. "I knew you would never come to me tonight. You have more backbone than you once did. That is not so good for me, eh?"
Ahead of them, Lavinia could see a line of public hacks and had no doubt that Balon already had one waiting to whisk them away into the night. All of the carriages looked much the same - black with no insignia or crest or other identifiable markings. If he managed to get her into one, all hope would be lost. Frost would never find her.
Then, as if out of nowhere, a man with a long scar slashing down the side of his face rose up out of the crowd of people. Dressed in gentleman's evening clothes, the man looked ever so fearsome, and yet his eyes conveyed to Lavinia that he was somehow, however improbable, on her side. He clearly had some effect on Balon as well, for her would-be kidnapper drew up short, their mad flight across the theater steps suddenly halted.
Just then, Lavinia noticed other, similarly dressed men moving out of the crowd to surround them, their evening clothes all black and cut in understated elegance, as if they were a part of the night itself. Though Balon still held her tightly in his grasp, she could sense that he was no longer as certain of himself as he had been only moments ago.
"Going somewhere?" the giant in front of them asked in
the most proper of voices that Lavinia had ever heard. "I do not think the lady wishes to accompany you." Then he grinned and the scar twisted a bit, though it did not detract from his handsome features. Curious that, and something sane that she could hold on to in the middle of the madness.
"Out of my way, peasant!" Balon snapped icily, though there was an undercurrent of fear there as well. "The lady and I need to be on our way now." Then Balon made the mistake of pushing against the giant's chest, yanking Lavinia with him in the process. All that seemed to do was make the other man's smile widen.
When they bounced back as one, almost ricocheting off the man's chest, Balon's grip on Lavinia's wrist loosened and she seized the opportunity to pull away, wrenching as hard as she could to free herself. As she tumbled backwards, she felt strong arms come around her and the deep, gravely voice she recognized as Harry's whispering "steady now" in her ear.
Realizing his prize was no longer in his grasp, Balon lunged for her but the giant's massive hands reached down and pulled him back as easily as if he weighed nothing. "Not so fast there, lad. We haven't been properly introduced." To Lavinia's surprise, the man laughed, and she had to wonder if he had head injuries from the war or whether he was just the peculiar sort. "I am Lord Lewis Blackmore, third son of the Marquess of Dunleighton and currently in the employ of Bow Street. Formerly of the 12th Light Dragoons, known as The Supple Twelfth. We acquitted ourselves well at Salamanca, which is where I picked up this delightful souvenir. Perhaps you've heard of us?" He did not wait for Balon to reply. "No? Shame that."
Then, without so much as a breaking as sweat, Blackmore quickly relieved Balon of his weaponry and dropped the Frenchman to his knees with a single, well-placed punch to the stomach.
Lavinia gasped and might well have fainted herself when another pair of hands came to rest on her shoulders and she felt herself being handed off to another. Her first instinct was to struggle and run, but then she inhaled the scent of bay rum that she had come to associate with Frost. For the first time since Balon had accosted her in the dark alley, Lavinia felt a wave of relief pass over her and her knees nearly gave out.
"Steady there," Frost whispered, gathering her close. "I have you, my darling. He won't hurt you again."
My darling.
This was the first time Frost had ever used such an endearment with her and for once, Lavinia was too exhausted to attempt to decipher its meaning. Instead, she simply allowed herself to simply be in his arms and relish the sense of protection he offered. She had not known much of peace and security in her life and for this one moment, she would allow herself the luxury, however small it might be.
From the safety of Frost's arms, Lavinia watched as Harry quickly took charge of the situation with practiced efficiency. He made certain that Balon was secured and ready to be transported back to Bow Street before issuing any number of orders to the men who stood smartly at attention before him. At one point, she thought she heard Harry issue a command that sounded very much like "visit Madame C" - though what a gossip columnist had to do with anything was beyond Lavinia - to a particularly well-dressed man, though she was just as certain she must have misheard, her mind still a muddle.
In fact, Lavinia could scarcely believe what she was seeing before her. All of the men assisting Harry were clad in similar black eveningwear, and she had the feeling that Harry had likely been anticipating something like this. She wanted to ask Frost but he shushed her quickly.
Finally, when the last of the men slid back into the darkness of the night, Harry turned to Frost and Lavinia, his gaze weary. "I sent Blackmore to handle cleanup back at Bow Street so I could return to your sister. We don't know for certain yet that Balon was acting alone, and I'd rather not take a chance. At least not until Wilson can interrogate him. If Balon has secrets remaining, my man will break him."
Frost nodded before Lavinia could even ask who this Wilson person was. "Agreed. Though I do not think we should return to the theater. I believe that Lady Lavinia needs some time to recover. Perhaps a visit from Dr. Hastings is in order, should we say? Make our excuses, would you?"
Harry nodded smartly, clearly in complete agreement. "Already done. Word of this evening is on its way to the proper channels, and I shall inform the others of your departure." He closed his eyes for a moment and Lavinia had the impression he had been just as worried as Frost had been. "Thank God this was not worse, and that we were able to contain him. I did not anticipate that he might use a ruse, and I should have."
"None of us did, my friend," Frost reassured Harry with a clap on the back. "You cannot plan for every possible situation."
"It is my job," Harry quipped, though he seemed a little cheered by his friend's words. "Still, tonight has come to a favorable conclusion." Then he turned and offered Lavinia a small bow. "My lady. I shall see you on the morrow." Then he, too, was gone, heading back in the direction of the theater's marble steps where she assumed the rest of Frost's family was still waiting.
For a moment, neither of them said a word, the crowds that had gathered having first thinned and now all but disappeared completely until it was the two of them in the near darkness.
"Frost, I..." Lavinia began but once more he silenced her. This time with a kiss.
"We shall talk," he agreed quickly. "But not here. Not like this."
Then, with a strong hand at the small of her back, he propelled her forward to where the row of hacks waited and for a moment, she stiffened. Then she relaxed. This was Frost. She had nothing to fear from him. Except that the hard glint in his eyes indicated that perhaps she did have a reason to be afraid after all. For he now knew all of her secrets. There was truly nowhere left to run.
Chapter Seventeen
The carriage ride back to Frost's town home in the hired hack was a silent one, though even if Lavinia could have organized her thoughts well enough to speak, she did not know what she would say. Would she apologize to Frost and say that she was sorry? For she was. Very much so. But she did not think that would be quite enough for him, given the angry set of his chin and the firm press of his lips into a grim line.
Would she plead ignorance and say that she had not known Balon was in London? That would also likely be a bad idea, for she was certain that if Frost did not already suspect that she had knowledge of the man's presence in Town, Harry likely did. Or would she simply confess all and then beg him to allow her to leave on her terms so that her past would never darken his doorstep and bring harm to his family again? That last seemed like the most probable scenario, even though it was also the one that would likely hurt her heart the most.
She was a bit surprised when the hack deposited them in front of Chillton House instead of at the love nest. After all, was that not where one took a mistress? To a love nest? For was that not what she really was? She was not, after all, really a member of his family.
Lavinia opened her mouth to question Frost on his choice of location but promptly shut it again when he shook his head angrily. She supposed he had a point. Best not to air their grievances in front of the hack driver. That would only lead to yet more gossip for him and his family to endure and then later diffuse.
As the hack rolled to a stop, Frost leapt from the carriage before the driver could even come around to open the door. With a flick of his wrist, he lowered the steps and reached up to hand Lavinia out, all as he dropped some coins in the drivers' hand. Her slippers had barely touched the sidewalk before he offered her his arm rather stiffly and practically drug her up the stairs before her hand even came to rest in the crook of his elbow.
"Claxton," Frost all but snapped as the front door swung open to reveal the stiff and proper butler, "see that we are not disturbed. By anyone. No maids or servants. Not by Mr. Greer or Lord Raynecourt or my sisters. Not even my mother." He paused and his frowned deepened even more. "Especially not by my mother. If any other unexpected guests arrive with their baggage, install them in the blue and rose bedchambers as you think best and most proper. Open
the yellow and cream chambers as well, if necessary. But do not, under any circumstances, place them in any of the family chambers closest to my own. Is that understood?"
Claxton bowed as if that was the most normal of requests. "Perfectly, my lord. You shall not be disturbed." Then the butler picked up a branch of candles and handed them to Frost as if it was just another normal evening in the viscount's household.
Lavinia's head was swimming but rather than argue, she simply followed Frost up the stairs and towards his bedchamber without uttering so much as a peep. His back was stiff and she could see a small tear at the shoulder of his dark blue superfine evening coat. He had likely received it when scuffling with Balon when he believed the man to be a ruffian.
Unable to help herself, Lavinia reached out and traced the small rip with her fingertips. "I am sorry, Frost. That is my fault. I hope that it can be repaired."
At first she thought she had spoken so softly that he had not heard her, but then he glanced backwards, his normally warm silver eyes now the color of a frigid glacier. Yet Lavinia would not back down. He had every right to be angry with her, true, but she would undo the damage as best she could. She would leave first thing in the morning. No one would even notice that she was gone and his family would be spared the gossip and humiliation of being associated with a woman such as her.
Lavinia thought he might simply deposit her in her chambers but instead, he marched right past them and instead led them directly to his door. His strides were so long that she had to scurry a little to keep up and she almost ran directly into the back of him when he finally reached his bedchamber. He grasped the doorknob and swung the door open with far more force than was likely necessary, though he did offer her a brief bow before he gestured for her to precede him into the room.
From the Viscount With Love Page 23