Ben was supposed to have been walking down that alley, not Richard. And why had Richard just stood there talking to that woman? What had they said to one another? He couldn’t recognize the woman, but that wasn’t a surprise. Not many women of his acquaintance wore masks, slunk around townhouses, and accosted men in the shadows.
“Damn!” Now Ben would know about the near-murder behind his house; he’d be more cautious in the future, which meant Black had to work even harder to get him alone. To get him dead.
Golden Man would have a fit if he learned about what Black had done—when he learned about what Black had done. That man had eyes and ears throughout the city, which meant he would more than likely learn of Black’s activities before the night was through.
Groaning, he closed his eyes, desperation tasting like muck on his tongue. He needed something else in his mouth, in his blood.
Tapping on the roof, he directed the driver to the one place in London where he could disappear from everywhere at once through the haze of oblivion.
…
It was nearly four of the clock when she entered the house and headed for the study, her legs like steamed rice noodles and her eyes like sandpaper. She probably looked as exhausted as she felt. Victoria sat down next to Honoria, who leaned back into the couch cushions to close her eyes. It appeared that she’d attempted to wipe the greasepaint from her face, but there were still smears of it covering her usually pale, flawless skin.
A sound from behind told her another of her siblings had arrived, and Love and Verity appeared, both slumping into the couch opposite. Love kicked up his feet, dropping them onto the table in the middle, making the whole thing rattle most alarmingly. But Vic didn’t care about that right now. She had greater issues to worry about, like how to tell them she’d both saved Richard’s life and exposed herself to him—in the non-sexual sense, of course.
Though, after the way he’d looked at her tonight, his golden eyes fiery and hot, and the way he’d grinned at her, wolfish and wicked, she didn’t know how she was going to face him tomorrow when he came to make good on her promise of answers.
“Now that we are all here,” her father began, tying a knot in his banyan, “we can begin.” Unlike his children, her father had remained at home, probably doing what he could to keep their mother from fretting overmuch. While they seemed to live in entirely different worlds, her parents cared for one another.
Will I ever know what that feels like, to have someone care for me as my father cares for my mother? An image of a wolfishly grinning viscount flashed through her mind’s eye, and she slapped it away.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Love began. “Rhys’s house was quiet. He stayed at home with Lady Maria all evening.”
“No suspicious characters lurking about?” Papa asked.
“No.”
“Honoria?” their father asked, indicating it was her turn to speak.
Rubbing the back of her neck, she announced, “Nothing of import happened at Reading’s house, either. I don’t think they are at home at all. It was dark the whole of the evening.”
Their father hmmed, then turned to Verity.
Verity sat forward and sighed. “No movement at the Earl of Heathland’s home. It’s almost as if they knew they were being watched and did all they could to appear as boring and unaffected as possible.”
Vic hadn’t thought about that. If the fiends who had a copy of the Blackguard List had been using the list to steal from those on it, was it possible that they were also working with some of the men listed? It was a sickening thought, one that made Vic’s head pound.
Leavenson—never far away as of late, it seemed—entered the room. He cast his gaze over her siblings until it landed on her and stayed.
“I would like to know about the man unceremoniously dumped at my back door,” he drawled, making Vic wince. She didn’t have the patience to relate the whole story right now, but she couldn’t very well keep the information to herself, not when the whole scheme had been a plan Leavenson and her father had concocted.
Sighing, she told them about watching the duke’s house, how Richard left it after helping his friend home, and how the assailant came from the shadows, attempting to stab Richard in the back.
“My God,” her father exclaimed, turning to Leavenson. “And you have this man in custody?”
“I do. He was delivered to my home, trussed up like a prize buck.”
Vic could well remember tying the villain up with that very thing in mind. She almost smiled at the memory. Almost. Because with that memory came the one in which Richard was nearly killed.
If I hadn’t been there…he would be dead. A shudder rocked her body, making her gasp.
“Victoria? Are you all right?” Honoria asked, her weary blue eyes filling with concern.
“I am just overwrought, that’s all. I think I will be much better tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to rest.”
“We all will,” her father intoned. “Leavenson, I trust you will interrogate the fellow for every scrap of information about who sent him and why.”
Leavenson narrowed his gaze at her father. “Rest assured, Daring, I will do whatever is necessary to get what I want.”
…
As Vic readied herself for bed, her thoughts returned to what Leavenson said.
I will do whatever is necessary to get what I want… Why did she feel as though he hadn’t been talking about answers?
After Leavenson’s departure and her siblings’ escape to their beds, Victoria had remained to speak with her father.
“Victoria, darling, come, sit,” her father had said, indicating the chair beside the hearth where a dying fire was still warming the air. She made her way there and dropped into the upholstered chair, groaning at how well the chair cupped her aching body.
“I can always tell when there is something you want to share with me,” her father remarked, taking the seat across from her, a tumbler of Scotch in his hand.
“There is something I want to tell you—to talk with you about,” she admitted, pressing her hand to her forehead. “It is something I did not tell the others.”
He sat back, tipping the tumbler to his lips to take a sip. She watched him, waiting.
“What is it?” he finally asked, his tone inviting. One thing she could always count on was her father listening before acting.
She sucked in a breath, sat forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, and proceeded to tell her father what had happened behind Benford’s row house after she’d apprehended the would-be murderer. About Richard discovering her identity and his asking to know the whole of her involvement with watching Benford’s house.
“And you rejected his request for information?”
She nodded, her head beginning to pound from exhaustion and stress. “Yes.”
“But you are not entirely sure that he is innocent of blackmailing the Earl of Banebridge.” He calmly reiterated what she’d said.
“That is accurate, Papa,” Victoria replied with a sigh.
Her father placed his still-full tumbler on the table beside him and rose to his feet.
“Then you will be relieved to know that, with help from several of Leavenson’s resources, we were able to completely clear Downing of any connection to the organization of opium dealers.”
Relief, cool and clear, flooded through her. But why did that matter again?
“Does that mean you are giving your permission to share operation information with Downing?”
Her father’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Tell him as much as you think he needs to know, but keep in mind that the more you disclose, the closer you will draw him in. Be prepared, Victoria, to deal with those consequences.”
Chapter Nineteen
Though he was fatigued to the point of misery, Richard made it home just as the sun rose over the townhouses across the street. He was aching for his bed…for the sleep that didn’t come no matter how hard he tried. He tossed and turned, twisting his she
ets into a mess of silk and sweat, but he couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t get his mind to quiet. Couldn’t stop thinking about Victoria, dressed as darkness made flesh, moving as though she were a living weapon.
Her movements had been like a dance—a lethal dance that easily toppled his assailant and disarmed him. And thoughts of his near-death ate at him until he was so tense, his body vibrated from it.
Who was that man and why had he tried to kill him? If it were a simple robbery, why kill him first? No, it was more than that. Whoever that man was, he’d been waiting for Richard to leave.
The number of questions rose until he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the list unfurl before him, like an endless parchment scroll, rolling off the edge of the earth.
As the clock on the mantel struck nine, he slid from the bed, ringing for his valet. Richard was washed, dressed, shaved, and fed by the time the clock in his study toned eleven times. He’d be early to the Darings’, but he couldn’t make himself care over it.
He was anxious, apprehensive, but mostly…angry. He wanted to sit down with Victoria Daring and finally ask the questions he’d been harboring since that night in the earl’s study. Since the night Victoria had crashed into his life holding a drinks tray, wearing a hideous red wig.
With his emotions forced back behind the facade of the carefree gentleman, he rode to St. George Street, his frustrations rising each second. Would she answer his questions? Would she tell him what she learned from the man she’d taken? When would his life return to what it was before, comfortable and predictable?
But was that what he really wanted?
No. Since meeting Victoria, he’d discovered a penchant for deceptively dangerous Darings. At first, his interest in her had been purely physical; she’d felled him with her eyes. But soon, the mystery of her had filled him to the point of obsession.
He had to know her.
But what of the danger?
Could he continue along this path, driven by curiosity and obsession, despite the obvious danger seemingly surrounding her? For God’s sake, she’d saved his life from a knife-wielding blackguard.
Drawing up before the house, he alighted and climbed the stairs he’d first seen little Miss Faith somersaulting down, before knocking on the door. Within a minute, the sour-faced butler opened the door.
“Lord Richard Downing, here to see Lady Victoria Daring,” he intoned, somewhat annoyed at the man’s unpleasant mien.
The man tipped back on his heels and stared down his nose at Richard. “You are early,” the man drawled flatly, making Richard fight a cringe. “I am to inform you that you are to round the house and enter through the back door. You will be directed to the lady from there.”
He closed the door in Richard’s face before he could open his mouth to ask what the hell the man meant. Even the servants in the Daring house were impertinent.
He strangled a laugh at that, wondering if he’d gone mad.
Turning around, he headed back down the stairs, then spun to look up at the house. There was a wrought iron fence around the perimeter, but just to the left was a small gate. He made his way there, opening the soundless gate to enter the side garden. There was little to recommend the space other than a few nooks where one could take a defiant miss to kiss the impudence from her luscious mouth.
His belly tightened at the thought of finally taking the deep, decadent kiss he’d been yearning for since the ball. She’d be fiery, taste of spice, and would consume him as nothing else could—he knew it. Could feel it in his bones.
But he couldn’t take a kiss from Victoria, not without taking the risk of giving her everything.
The back door was a short distance from the path through the side garden. Once on the narrow doorstep, he knocked. The door was opened immediately by the short woman Miss Faith had called Ping-Na. He could guess that she had come with them from their post in the Orient, but he wondered why she’d chosen to do so?
As if you wouldn’t follow Victoria across a continent… He cursed silently.
Opening his mouth, he repeated the announcement he’d offered the butler at the front door, and the woman pulled the door open wider, indicating he should step inside. It was rather circumspect, his sneaking in through the back door, but he knew Victoria wanted to keep what occurred last night secret. Which wasn’t a surprise: if her father discovered that his eldest child was skulking about, confronting peers of the realm and battling armed fiends, he would probably have an apoplectic fit.
“You early,” Ping-Na snapped before pursing her lips. Richard sighed. “She upstairs. Third floor,” Ping-Na said, pointing toward the back staircase just off the kitchen.
The kitchen was warm—filled with servants cooking, cleaning up after what looked like a morning of baking, and preparing for the evening meal, but that warmth had nothing on how hot it got the higher up he climbed. Once on the third floor, he was tempted to remove his coat and roll up his sleeves to ease some of his discomfort.
He reached the third-floor landing and paused. He didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the sounds of grunts, flesh slapping against flesh, and sharp shouts.
Was Victoria in trouble? Heart pounding, he rushed toward the open door at the end of the corridor, skidding to a halt at the threshold.
No, he certainly wasn’t expecting what he found.
Victoria, dressed the same as the night before, was standing before Verity, who was dressed similarly, and they were circling one another, their faces drenched in sweat, their expressions hard, their gazes locked on their opponents: each other.
In a blink, Verity struck out with her hand, catching Victoria in the chest, but Victoria grabbed Verity’s extended arm and held fast, landing her own blow to Verity’s exposed belly.
Verity grunted, trying to loose her arm from Victoria’s hold. But Victoria wasn’t done—she swept out her right leg, catching Verity at the ankles, which made Verity fall backward, her eyes wide. She landed on her hind end with an oompf.
Victoria placed a knee on Verity’s chest and pressed her palm into her sister’s throat.
“Yield,” Victoria demanded, her muscles straining against a struggling Verity. “Yield!” she demanded again. And with a strangled yell, Verity went limp, allowing her arms to fall to her sides.
Richard stood there, awestruck by what he’d just witnessed.
Victoria moved with such deadly grace, such speed, and she struck with strength. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he never would have known Victoria Daring—and her sister—were thus skilled.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he found himself asking.
Victoria startled, snapping her head around to face him. Her eyes flashing, her chest rising and falling from her exertion, she looked magnificent.
“Let me up, Vic,” Verity ordered, and Victoria turned back to her sister, gazed down at her, and laughed. She lifted her hand from Verity’s neck and pushed herself up to a crouch—she looked like a predator, watching, ready to pounce.
Verity scrambled to her feet, huffing out a breath, and Victoria rose to standing, elegant, graceful, stunning. They both laughed this time, grinning at one another in a moment of camaraderie.
Verity grabbed a small towel from a rack and wiped at her face. “Lord Richard,” she said. “Glad you could come.” Her gaze landed on her sister, and an unspoken conversation flicked between them. Victoria grimaced, but Verity grinned, turning back to Richard. “I will leave you two to it. Victoria, I will see you at dinner.”
She dipped a quick curtsey and parted, leaving Richard and Victoria standing in the middle of a sweltering room, staring at one another silently.
A slight grin playing at her beautiful lips, Victoria pulled back her shoulders and began, “I suppose you have even more questions now…”
He pulled at his cravat, which seemed to be wilting in the heat, and answered, “The list continues to grow, yes—starting with, is it always so hot up here?”
She nodded. “You are early,” she remarked, and he had to grunt at yet another reminder of his unnecessary urgency. “If you’d arrived at the appointed time, we’d be in the much cooler parlor. Feel free to remove your coat and cravat; they cannot be comfortable. And I do not care so much about formalities like appropriate dress and undress.”
Looking at her, taking in what she was wearing, he smiled. “I can see that.”
He tugged on his cravat again, this time loosing it completely. Unbuttoning his coat, he began to peel the thick material from his shoulders but stopped; Victoria was watching his every movement, a crackling fire in her eyes. It was a look he was accustomed to: desire.
Swallowing, he wondered if it were possible for him to get any hotter as he divested himself of his coat and tossed it onto the floor by the door. His cravat quickly followed. And now he was standing there in his waistcoat and shirt, his body tense, his heart thudding…
He needed to distract himself, for his thoughts about Victoria would get him nowhere, and right now he wanted answers. His gaze flicked to her lips, which were pursed. Was she thinking the same things he was? Was she wondering what it would feel like to press her lips against his, to taste him, to fill her body with the scent and heat of him?
Likely not…
Victoria cleared her throat. “I would offer you a seat, but”—she raised her arms—“as you can see, there is nowhere to sit.”
He finally let his gaze wander around the room. It was a large space with a strange-looking mat in the center, three full-body targets, and a wall displaying row upon row of swords, daggers, and wicked-looking metal stars. He recognized two of the blades, one of which was the same sword she’d worn the night before. In the glaring sunlight, the sharpened blade reflected the sunshine. Beside it a set of rapiers hung.
“You admire my collection?” she asked, coming to stand beside him. He didn’t have to look at her to know she was staring at him; he could feel her gaze like a blaze along his skin.
A Lady Never Tells (Women of Daring) Page 16