by Shirl Henke
“You have survived rape and a war every bit as terrible as the one in Europe.”
“I am a runaway wife, no matter the justification. He trusts Gabrielle so much he has told her—me—to call him Rob.” She leaned back stiffly. “Me he calls Lady Fantasia.” She spat out the words, recalling his wild ride to Gaby’s sickbed.
“So the Lady Fantasia is jealous of his French lover,” Grace said, turning the conundrum over in her mind.
“No!” Amber exclaimed, but the older woman made a dismissive gesture.
“He has pleased you all too well, and now your heart is involved. That was always a risk, dear child, but I had hoped…Who knows?” She paused. “Barrington might not give you up when he weds.”
Amber shook her head. “Even if he were not too honorable to keep a mistress, I am not Gaby. She is not me!”
“Therein lies the problem, and the solution since you are both women. Barrington must see you in the bright light of day. He must become as attracted to Lady Fantasia as he is to his Frenchwoman.”
“Gaby has a distinct advantage over Fantasia,” she replied. “She is his lover. I cannot compete.”
“According to the Chronicle, he is highly intelligent and interested in social reform. You have much in common. Engage his mind. If the earl is half as noble as you credit, he will appreciate discourse as much as…intercourse.” She smiled at her bawdy bon mot, then compounded it, suggesting, “Invite him to ride with you. ′Tis a lovely day for an outing and you have not ridden this week past…at least not on horseback,” she added with a chuckle.
Amber threw down her napkin and stood up, pacing to the bow window and looking out at the woods surrounding their property. “That is an addlepated notion. How could it possibly help to socialize with him? If he learns how I have played him…”
Grace followed, placing her arm around Amber. “In time, he must learn—and he will understand. If he is half the man you believe, how could he not? Come, now, you have fallen into such a brown study. Everyone remarks on it. If ever you are going to sort out your feelings about Barrington, you’ll not do it by avoiding him.”
“Since I have bedded with him, I am scarce avoiding him.”
“Ah, but that is when he meets Gabrielle in darkness. That does not signify for the purpose at hand. He will enjoy sparring with you.”
Amber remembered their encounter in her coach. He did enjoy their verbal fencing. “It would be presumptuous to invite him to be seen in public with a widow. Whatever pretext could I use?”
“According to what Jenette told me, you might employ his baroness’s trick.”
Amber threw up her hands. “I have already done so after I saw him at Mr. Berry’s grocery. He would never believe another chance encounter such as that.”
Grace considered for a moment. “Then send a message and tell him you wish to speak with him about some political matter. Suggest a ride this afternoon, if his schedule permits.”
Amber paced, thinking. The courtesans at the House of Dreams were well educated and often discussed politics with their patrons, many of whom sat in Parliament. “Only yesterday Claudia did pass along a rumor regarding Mr. Cobbett, which might interest the earl.”
Grace patted her arm in a motherly fashion. “Most clever. Get Barrington in Fantasia’s debt. You must spend time with him before your French rival sees him again.” And Gaby will most certainly hunger do so very soon, ere I miss my guess.
Rob recognized Lady Fantasia’s flourished handwriting on the note. Thanking his footman, he closed the door to his library and broke the seal, considering his humiliation after the last time he read a message from her. “What now?” he muttered.
My Dear Lord B,
At the risk of alarming you with another terse note, I invite you to join me for a ride this afternoon. The area north of St. John’s Wood is open country with no city traffic. I shall be passing Hempstead at one. Be at ease. The matter is political, not social.
Lady F
He stared at the missive, uncertain whether to be angered at her presumption or pleased by her wit. Glancing at his desk, where he had been laboring over a speech he was to present the first of the week, he considered the bright spring sunshine splashing over the papers. Perhaps a ride would be just the thing to clear his head. The tall case clock in the foyer struck eleven. He would have just enough time to change and ride to Hempstead by the appointed hour.
A political matter. He considered what it might be. With a woman as well educated as the madam, the possibilities were infinite. Admit it, you enjoy her company and wonder why such a bright, clever woman must hide her face. He also enjoyed the beauty of her slender body. His conscience twinged. He was being disloyal to Gaby.
No, by damn, he owed loyalty to neither woman. The House of Dreams and its inhabitants were only a means to an end. He should be thinking of Lady Oberly’s dinner the day after tomorrow, not riding…of either sort!
Yet as he guided his big black down Alpha Road, he could not conjure the image of the baroness’s pale blonde beauty no matter how hard he tried. He had met her scores of times, yet two women whose faces he had never beheld filled his mind to her exclusion. What was wrong with him? He reminded himself that Lady Oberly was lovely and kind. But has she ever engaged you in a discussion of consequence the whole time you have known her?
His troubling thoughts ended when he passed through the tiny hamlet of Hampstead and saw the madam mounted on a splendid blaze-faced bay. Lady Fantasia waited beneath the shade of a large oak. She wore a severely tailored black riding habit that showed off her slender curves to excellent advantage. A jaunty small hat accented with a single peacock feather perched on her head. He could not discern the color of her hair because of the heavy veil drooping to her shoulders.
“Ever the lady of mystery, Fantasia,” he said as he reined in beside her. “The veil quite spoils that fashionable bonnet.”
“I see you have elected to leave your fashionable bonnet behind,” she could not resist teasing. “I do hope it was not ruined in the rain.” He was bareheaded, his hair clubbed back with a few loose waves caressing his brow. “Your buckskins have obviously survived quite serviceably.” The “country clothes” were not as revealing as they had been soaking wet, but she appreciated how they fit his lean body all the same.
“Most uncharitable of you to mention my ill-considered ride. As to the hat, it has survived, thanks to my valet. He was almost as cross with me as were you for drenching my wardrobe.” In spite of his embarrassment over the incident, he found himself chuckling with her.
As they turned their horses and cantered down the lane, Rob noticed a rider emerge from behind a clump of alder bushes a discreet distance away. He recognized the gray-haired man who had blocked his way to the stairs with such serious determination that morning. “Your groom has a military bearing,” he said.
“Sergeant Major Boxer spent twenty-one years in the Coldstream Guards before he came to work for me.”
“He looks to be a man not to cross.”
“I assure you he is that and more,” she replied as Boxer trailed them. She tilted her head up and let the warm sun seep through her veil.
She sat the sidesaddle with expert ease, as if born to ride fine horseflesh, reinforcing his certainty that she had come from a good family if not a titled one. He wanted to ask but decided that she would not answer and it might spoil what could be a most pleasant outing. She broke into his thoughts with a question.
“Do you, perchance, read Mr. Cobbett’s Political Register?”
“Only at night after drawing the drapes within the privacy of my study, yes,” he replied dryly.
Amber watched his face from behind the safety of her veil. His smile was so seductive it was akin to being seditious. “He can be a bit inflammatory,” she said lightly.
“A deal more than just inflammatory, but we agree on many issues such as the treatment of veterans and the plight of the poor—most especially their being used as a politicall
y destabilizing force.”
“Some in Lord Liverpool’s government would say the speech you gave in Lords on child labor was a deal more than just inflammatory,” she replied. “′Tis a good thing you are a peer, else you might have ended up in Newgate with him a few years back.”
Rob nodded. “I mislike the way Liverpool and his home secretary have subverted the rights of our citizens. Cobbett said nothing to merit spending two years in prison—without benefit of so much as a mockery of a trial.”
“Then perhaps you should warn him that Sidmouth has a list with his name on it…again.”
He turned his head and stared at her. “This is the political matter you wanted to discuss?” When she nodded, he asked, “How the devil do you know the home secretary is plotting to imprison Cobbett again?”
“Although I will never divulge their names, a few very influential members of Parliament are patrons of the House of Dreams. Upon occasion they discuss things outside the fantasy world.”
That made sense to him. Then a disturbing thought occurred. Would Gaby share his confessions with Lady Fantasia or any of the other women? No, he felt quite positive she would never betray him. “Cobbett has always spoken of traveling to America,” he mused aloud. “Perhaps I shall suggest now would be an opportune time to make such a journey.”
“You are acquainted, then?”
“I do lurk in places where interesting ideas are discussed, remember?” he said, smiling at her. Although he could not see her face, he felt the warmth of her return smile through the veil.
Neither of them noticed when Boxer’s mount came up lame. The sergeant reined in and dismounted to examine the horse’s hoof, then took out a knife to dislodge a sharp pebble from it. As he worked on the animal, his mistress and her companion disappeared around a curve in the lane. It was a tranquil, safe area, so he was not disturbed…
Until he heard loud yells and pounding hoofbeats over the chirping of birds.
Chapter Seven
From the concealment of a thicket of untrimmed boxwoods, Cresswel and his confederate watched the trio ride down the deserted country lane. They had followed the veiled woman and her guard since she left her bordello, waiting for the best opportunity to kill him and abduct her. When she met a gentleman, the runner was infuriated with his bad luck. Not expecting to have to deal with a second man, he had brought only one cutthroat from Whitechapel. Hull waited back a quarter mile away with the final payment in exchange for the woman.
The moment Cresswel saw the guard fall behind, he whispered to Jem, “This be our chance. You know wot to say. I’ll take out the gent, then watch for ’er guard ’n shoot ’em when he comes round. You grab the chit.” At Jem’s nod, they kicked their horses into a gallop and swooped from the brush up to the road.
Rob heard the thunder of hoofbeats as two riders with pistols drawn broke from cover. One yelled, “Pull up ’n give us yer purses.” It seemed like a robbery, which would be rare enough in this area, but he did not like the fact that they wore no masks, nor the way the second man slowed down. The big, rangy fellow was preparing to shoot him while the one who had spoken neared Fantasia. He cursed himself for going unarmed.
There was no help for it. He nudged his stallion into a full gallop and stretched his body low on the black’s neck, charging directly into the man who was trying to seize her reins. A shot whistled over his shoulder just as he crashed his big mount broadside into the thief’s scrawny nag, sending horse and rider tumbling to the ground. The man’s gun went flying into the brush. Fantasia backed her horse expertly out of the way as the downed horse scrambled to its feet and raced off in terror.
Rob expected Boxer to handle the man whose weapon had been discharged. He dived from his mount and tackled the thief on the ground before he could retrieve the unfired pistol. The fellow drew a knife from his sash and made a clumsy slice at Rob, who jumped agilely to one side, then kicked the weapon from the squat, burly man’s fist. His opponent scrambled to his feet. Rob seized him by his filthy jacket with one hand and landed a hard punch in his thick gut with the other. Beneath the fat was substantial muscle. He grunted but did not go down.
Rob punched, ducked, and punched again, landing lightning-swift blows to his thick foe. Just as the barrel-like man tried to take another swing, the earl ducked beneath it and sent his fist upward, slamming it into his opponent’s throat. As the burly man crumpled to the ground, another shot rang out. Busy fighting, Barrington had not seen the fellow on horseback pull another pistol from his sash and take aim at his back.
Rob whirled around in a crouch, expecting that Boxer had dispatched the second man, who indeed dropped his pistol and slumped in his saddle. But then he saw Boxer urging his mount around the curve in the road, too far distant to have fired. He turned to Fantasia, who calmly held the reins of her sidestepping mount in one gloved hand while the other held a French LePage percussion-lock pistol, still smoking. She had pulled away her veil, revealing her face!
“Jem, here!” the man she had shot yelled out, but when the short man clambered to his feet, his companion calmly shot him, then kicked his nag into a gallop and vanished into the bushes.
“That one was going to kill you,” she said, sliding the pistol into a hidden pocket at the side of her riding habit.
“I thank you that he did not succeed,” Rob replied.
“Boxer, see if you can catch him!” she yelled at the sergeant major, who galloped into the brush in pursuit, his Manton pistol out and ready to fire.
Both Rob and Fantasia heard the fellow on the ground groan. A red stain widened across his chest, and blood bubbled at his lips. Rob knelt beside him. “Who is the man who shot you?” he asked. The thief’s hand gripped the earl’s arm for a moment, as if he wanted to speak. Then his hold loosened. His head lolled to one side. “I wish we could have learned who the other man was. He killed this one to prevent him from talking.”
“Damnation,” Fantasia said. “I would not have misjudged my shot if this skittish beast had behaved. We would at the least have had two bodies for my runner to identify.” Tightening her hold on the reins until the bay calmed, she dismounted. She knelt beside the earl and looked at the dead man’s face.
“Have you ever seen him before?” he asked.
“Never. I could not forget anyone that ugly.” She turned and looked up at him. “Do you have enemies from your army days? Or perchance because of your unpopular opinions in Parliament?”
Rob shook his head, trying not to stare at her face. “Wilberforce has made many more enemies than I. He has considerably more influence in Parliament. Yet no one has attempted to kill him. It would make no sense that any political foes would want to see me dead, either. I trust you believe me when I say there are no compromised women or cuckolded husbands lurking in my past?” he asked dryly.
She smiled at him. “No, I do not think that is likely.”
The mysterious Lady Fantasia was incredibly lovely, more so than he could ever have imagined. Her wide golden eyes, slender nose, and ripe full lips were framed by red hair the color of dark sweet cherries. He had longed to see this face ever since their first meeting. That desire had only grown as he had come to appreciate her wit and intellect. Now he was shocked by a sudden carnal urge. How appalling. How would his sweet, sensual Gaby feel if she knew he lusted after her benefactress?
What would Lady Oberly think!
“Your reputation among the saints remains intact,” Amber replied nervously, realizing that she had made a serious mistake. The earl was studying her face. Could he see Gaby in her? She was grateful that Grace had taught her to apply paints to conceal her scar. He had become a very perceptive lover and knew every inch of her body, including the mark on her cheek. Gabrielle had taught him too much about women for him to be easily fooled. Swallowing hard, she steadied her hands, then replaced the veil, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.
“I did not expect you to be so young and beautiful,” he said, then could have bitten his ton
gue. “That is, a woman of your intellect, your wit, and…er…organizational skills…” he blurted out, realizing he was making a horrid bumble bath of it.
“How old did you imagine one must be to operate an establishment such as mine? Must I need resemble Medusa and shuffle along on a cane? How old are you, m’lord—no more than three decades, I would wager.”
The tart inquiry brought a heated flush to his face. “I am eight and twenty,” he replied stiffly.
“Yet you have had a successful military career and are poised to become a significant voice in Lords.”
“A man’s lot is different,” he replied stubbornly now.
“I took you for other than a clunch-headed male. What a most contradictory man you are, m’lord. Bravely charging an armed thief and bringing him down with your bare hands, then back to braying again.”
“I think these ruffians were after you,” he stated, ignoring her pointed barb. “I was merely in their way.”
She smiled grimly. “You have honed your verbal skills well in Parliament, to shift my attention away from your, er, ill-considered comments.”
“Why would you need to conceal your identity if you are not hiding from someone?” he persisted.
His intent gaze and nearness disturbed her almost as much as the idea he forced her to consider. “My reasons for concealing my face are my own,” she snapped. Amber stood, praying her legs would not give way before she could reach the bay. It cannot be! Not after all these years…surely… She would have to speak with Grace. And Jenette. They had warned her never to assume she was safe until the marquess was dead. At six and forty, the vicious beast could live for decades yet.
Rob watched her step away from him and give her still-skittering mount’s reins a firm tug. Immediately, he followed, chastened that he had upset her. “I have ill repaid you for saving my life. Please forgive my prying. Are you certain you feel able to ride?”
“I have Star under control now. It would be best for both of us to get away from the smell of blood.”