Chapter Twenty-Five
Victoria accepted the glass of tepid lemonade from the passing waiter. She wouldn’t drink it, but she had to appear as though she were actually a part of the garden party…which was actually being held in a conservatory, complete with an orangery and a hothouse.
While the company was stifling, the surroundings were spectacular. The bright, fragrant blooms were breathtaking, drawing the eye and seducing the heart. Boxes of flowers, lined in pretty little rows, framed a large room that was crowned with a ceiling of stained glass, lit with crystal chandeliers to reflect the candlelight.
At least she could enjoy strolling along the paths between the boxes and bushes; it offered her a chance to look for points of egress and ingress. Of course, she and her sisters were far too busy focusing on the mission at hand: infiltrate the viscount of Algren’s home and find evidence of his perfidy.
From beside her, Honoria sighed. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were glittering, and her lemonade glass was empty.
Grinning, Vic remarked, “It appears you are actually enjoying yourself, dear sister.”
Honoria met Vic’s grin with a brilliant one of her own. “Of course I am, dear sister. It is a party, after all. And besides, what’s not to like? There’s music, interesting company, refreshing drinks—”
“It seems as though you are tucked away. Dare I say you are finalizing your plans for the evening,” a familiar voice rumbled from behind them. Both ladies turned to find Richard standing there, looking as though he’d stepped from heaven with his perfectly fitted evening attire, his immaculately styled hair, his sharply honed features, and that blasted smirk.
His golden eyes glittered down at her, and she bit back her immediate response, which was a giggle that bubbled up from the nervousness being around him always wrought.
When he’d arrived at her house to escort her and her sisters to the party, leaving their parents to make their way there a little later, she’d nearly tripped over her own feet at the sight of Richard Downing grinning at her with that “I told you I’d get what I wanted” look in his eyes.
She wanted to both slap him and kiss him, and it tore up her long-fought calm. In the carriage ride, they’d discussed the particulars of the evening ahead, including the part where Vic was to investigate the hidden room off the larder, and her sisters and Richard were to distract and observe.
Since her sisters were skilled in watching without people knowing they were watching, they would be tasked with surveillance. And since Richard had little in the way of tactical training, he was tasked with keeping the viscount busy, as well as acting as adoring and possessive suitor.
It bothered Vic that Richard was forced to act adoringly—she wanted him to adore her in truth, and she didn’t understand from where the idiotic notion had come. They were merely acting a part on behalf of the agency and the Crown. It shouldn’t make her skin tingle when he stepped up beside her to loop her arm through his. It shouldn’t make her breath catch when he cast heated, attentive glances in her direction from across the room. Those same glances were one of the reasons she had brought her sister deeper into the conservatory, up one of the many paths.
“Lord Richard,” Honoria said, tittering prettily, “it is perfectly acceptable to actually party at a garden party.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” he replied, his smirk softening to a gentle tug of his lips as he peered down at the ethereal beauty of her sister. A pinch in her chest made her breath shudder. Vic was not—absolutely impossible—jealous of her own sister.
Richard was not hers; his smiles were not hers. His kisses… They weren’t hers, either. And it was better she remember that. Though, it was her remembering his kisses that made her skin warm and her stomach flutter as if a flight of butterflies had settled there.
“Lord Richard,” she offered, her smile genuine. “I meant to tell you how surprised I am that you decided to join us.”
He chuckled. “How could I not come? With the promise of such lovely company, I couldn’t very well stay at home to suffer alone.”
Honoria giggled, and Vic stifled her own laugh. Where had this levity come from? Maybe the scents around her really were intoxicating.
“And suffer you would, no doubt, for this garden party is, by far, the best event I have been to,” Honoria chattered.
Vic nearly rolled her eyes. “Honoria, really. We’ve only been in London for six months. You should reserve such opinions until we’ve attended more than a handful of events.”
“A handful?” Honoria quipped.
Victoria chuckled. “Very well, two handfuls.”
“Only that many?” he asked, his lips quirking. “By any chance, were any of those events clandestine?”
Heat blasted through her; the memory of her time with Richard in the alley, and before that in the earl’s study, churned up equal measures of agitation and excitement. She licked her lips, suddenly thirsty for more than lemonade.
“Mayhap, my lord,” Vic replied, meeting his mirthful gaze.
Honoria took Vic’s full glass of lemonade, replacing it with her empty one, then began sipping it.
“Well, now that I’ve had my fill of the party, I believe we can get to business,” Honoria snapped excitedly, her hands practically rubbing together with glee. She’d always been the most eager of the Darings, which was why no one told Honoria anything they didn’t want her to dive into headfirst and fully clothed.
A roil of anxiety rippled through her, but rather than let it dampen her sister’s excitement, Vic let her heart shine through, smiling down at her sister, who blinked rapidly, then smiled back.
“A capital idea, Honoria.” The sound of her own overly cheerful voice grated on her nerves. “We each know our roles, so it is best to get on with it before too late in the evening. We still have to appear to be active participants in the merriment.”
They’d all arrived at the party together, but as soon as they’d been announced, Verity broke off from the group, disappearing behind the spreading fronds of a juvenile palm tree.
Verity already knew her assignment: observe and report. While Honoria was especially good at sneaking—as a child she’d practice by sneaking snacks past Ping-Na—Verity was especially good at people watching.
Oftentimes, Vic envied her sister her gift. Why, how much easier would it be—even now—to read Richard and know what was going on in his mind, simply by reading his expressions and his movements?
She shook her head, diffusing the thoughts into the air, and her gaze caught on Richard’s lips as he bit the bottom one. Was it apprehension or excitement that made him do so? Pulling her gaze from his mouth—a mouth she refused to admit she’d enjoyed feeling against hers—she watched the way his expressions morphed.
He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his smile lopsided, and Vic couldn’t help but smile at him, too. His nervousness disappeared in an instant, replaced by a roguish grin that darkened his face, turning his gaze to an earthy, wicked ochre.
“I believe I can think of a few ways to keep the lord of the manor occupied. Consider it done. But I want…” Something across the room made him cut off his words, and Vic turned to find out what, somewhat annoyed that she wanted to hear what Richard was going to say.
“Richard, you rum duke,” a man said, waving at them as he approached from the mouth of the short path. He was tall and slender, had a head of dark hair curled dandily, and was dressed in a dark coat and dark breeches that seemed to fall off his frame as though he’d borrowed them from a sturdier fellow.
The man stopped before them, and Richard took his hand, shaking it and slapping him on the shoulder. Vic remembered him from the Banebridge party; he’d been flitting from group to group, then had finally disappeared into the card room. Why she had spent so much time watching him, she didn’t know. Hopefully, he wouldn’t recognize her as one of the maids, as Richard had.
“Michael, glad to see you,” Richard exclaimed, before turning to introduce him to her
and her sister.
Michael—introduced as the Marquis of Bendrake, though she already knew much about him through her operation files—bent over Vic’s hand, peering up at her through curling lashes. His eyes were a curious gray color, but it wasn’t the color that caught her attention; it was the strange expression she saw within, like a curiosity tempered with ennui.
“My lady,” he murmured, “you are beyond lovely. It is no surprise Richard has kept you to himself, secreting you away.” He flicked the leaf of a lemon tree, the branches of which spread out over their heads, offering a covering of sorts.
She forced a smile. “Secreted me away? Oh, I think not.”
Her tone was matter-of-fact; Honoria arched a black eyebrow, silently reminding Vic that charm was one of her most portable weapons—though she much preferred her dagger, which was right where it was supposed to be: strapped to her thigh.
“If anyone has secreted me away, it was the fairy who tends these lovely blooms.” She sounded as vapid as some of the debutantes she’d overheard during the last few months. To top off the comment, she giggled and fluttered her lashes, as though she were the soul of wit.
Michael looked duly charmed, but Richard cast her an incredulous look. Honoria was fighting back giggles of her own, and her cheeks were awash in pink. No doubt, Vic’s cheeks looked the same, but for a different reason. She felt Richard’s warmth, his presence, his masculinity, and it was overpowering her senses—despite her best-laid plans.
“Richard. Michael.” And his other friend. This one was a shorter, stockier version of Michael, with short-cropped brown hair. He was well dressed in a navy coat and buff trousers, his cravat tied elaborately…and tightly. Sweat-slick, his face was ruddy; he appeared to have run there from Africa.
“Ben. Wasn’t expecting you, old boy,” Michael murmured, his tone flat.
“I didn’t think to make it; I was tied up with business—as you know. And who are these lovely ladies?” His gaze landed on Honoria, who smiled becomingly, but Vic could see the sharp wariness in her sister’s face.
It was a wariness she shared.
…
Richard couldn’t believe his rotten luck; he appreciated his friendship with the brothers—though Ben had been testing that friendship lately—but he hadn’t counted on having to dislodge them in addition to keeping the viscount occupied, while also keeping an eye out for any trouble that might befall the ladies during their operation. If he were a Hecatoncheires, a creature of many arms and heads, he’d still feel incapable of juggling so many sharp objects.
You have to. For Victoria. He’d asked to help, and he’d been offered this olive branch—a sign of grudging trust given by a woman who had lit a fire within him after he’d long given up his life of diversions. And Victoria Daring offered a lifetime of diversions.
Lifetime? Where had that come from?
“Ben, glad to see you,” he said. “These two loveliest of ladies are Lady Victoria Daring and Miss Honoria Daring. Their father is Lord Gadstoke, Ambassador and Earl of Gadstoke.”
Why he felt the need to share such information, he had no idea. Perhaps he wanted to impress upon the man that he had a closer association to Victoria than he really did… What’s closer than having kissed her senseless in a carriage?
Ben, as his brother before him, appeared charmed by the Daring sisters, which wasn’t a surprise in the least. Aside from how deadly they were, they were also supremely attractive—but none as heart-stoppingly beautiful as Victoria.
“Ladies,” Ben murmured, bending first over Honoria’s hand, then lingering over Victoria’s. “How do you know Lord Richard?”
“Our father and his brother, the duke, are acquaintances. We met, officially, when we ran into each other outside of a haberdashery.”
Richard didn’t miss the way Victoria seemed to harden—it was subtle; unless one was looking for it, they would miss the stiffening of her spine, the straightening of her head, the stillness of her hands, and the sharpening of her gaze. Her smile was brittle, her posture one of coiled readiness. Disengaging her hand from Ben’s, she looked to Honoria, then back to Ben. “We find his company rather…diverting.”
That was one way to describe their “acquaintance.”
Ben laughed his boisterous chuckle. “Diverting? Our Richard?” He chuckled again. “By Jove, I haven’t seen Richard do anything diverting in years. Why, just the other night, he refused to accompany us to our new favorite club.”
Ben’s brown eyes danced, even as a glaze settled over them. Oh, yes, Richard had rejected their invitation to attend an evening of debauchery, but he’d still ended up in a mess. If he hadn’t helped Ben home, he never would have been put in the position of nearly dying.
Richard waved off the man’s comments. “I haven’t lost my ability to be diverting. I’ve only found other interests. One doesn’t need to go out every evening to be entertained.”
“Oh?” Victoria drawled, her lush upper lip curling upward. “What do you do for entertainment?”
Oh, she was teasing him, wasn’t she? The glitter of humor in her jeweled eyes told him yes.
Planting a bland expression on his face, he murmured, “Why, landscape painting and embroidery, of course.”
The group erupted in a chorus of laughter, and Richard found himself utterly enchanted by Victoria, who was simply smiling. But it was a brilliant, heart-stopping smile that made him forget all else save how beautiful she was. How remarkably incredible she was. As if sensing the intensity of his thoughts, Vic dropped her smile.
“Sister, I do believe I see that Mama has just arrived and is waving for us,” she announced, craning her neck to see over Ben’s and Michael’s shoulders. Richard knew she was trying to extricate her and her sister from the group so they could continue their operation, but that didn’t prevent the twist of disappointment in his gut. “Gentlemen, it was a pleasure. Lord Richard, do give our best to Lord Algren for us, as we haven’t had the chance to meet him yet.”
He knew that was her way of giving him an out, as well. It was also her way of reminding him of his part in their operation: distract.
Distract…that was the extent of his usefulness. That was his greatest offering to the mission he’d practically begged to be part of. If he hadn’t felt like an utter waste before, he did now.
His gaze caught on the glittering jewels pinned throughout her raven-wing hair as she spun and left their party, Honoria gliding along beside her, their heads together. Those two women, trained to disarm, sneak, pick locks, fence, and use their hands in deadly ways, made him feel as though he hadn’t spent enough time applying himself to more…vigorous pursuits.
“Michael, Ben, I am afraid I must take my leave as well. I need to make my greetings to the viscount.” He turned on his bootheel and made his way out toward the wide-open center of the solarium. His destination: the viscount of Algren.
Chapter Twenty-Six
They found Verity sitting on a stone bench, facing the single swinging door that must lead to the servants’ corridor. Upon seeing them, Verity stood, smoothing her skirts.
“I told the countess I needed a moment to myself. Bad reaction to the wine, I’m afraid,” Verity said, a sheepish grin on her face. “It was the only thing I could think of that would allow me to sit alone for longer than usually deemed proper. Or acceptable. I should have paid more attention in Mama’s lessons.”
Honoria and Vic giggled.
“Are we ready, then?” she asked, her face flushing. No doubt from the excitement.
“What can you tell us about the staff movements? Will it be difficult for me to leave without being seen? What about the number of serving staff? Kitchen staff?” Vic asked, her mind piecing together her next steps even before her sister spoke.
“There are ten serving men, three serving women, and I do not know about kitchen staff. I assume they do not leave the kitchen during the course of the party.”
Vic nodded. “And the pattern of coming and going?”<
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“They arrive two to three at a time, move about the room until their trays are filled with empty glasses—about twenty minutes—then they return to the kitchen. According to Mama’s tedious conversations about dinner parties, they should rotate the food once every ninety minutes. They completed the first rotation fifteen minutes ago.”
“When was the last round of serving staff?” Honoria inquired, her gaze watching the nearest serving man as he made his way up a path littered with brightly dressed men and women.
“Five minutes since this last group arrived. But, Victoria, you will have difficulty getting to the larder without knowing how many staff members are in the kitchens at any given time. There is no way of ascertaining the number of people you’ll have to slip by.”
Vic knew that; she’d chosen her evening gown with that in mind. Ping-Na, brilliant in all things, had outfitted Victoria’s gown with a tear-away skirt. Beneath the elaborate plum-colored evening gown, she wore a black skirt and black stockings. Her bodice, a simple cut in ecru, was close enough to the white of the servants’ shirts, especially in the poorly lit servant corridors, she needn’t bother with changing it.
All that was left was the lack of a mobcap, which she couldn’t very well wear to the party, so she’d hidden one in a pocket in her skirt. She hadn’t even bothered thinking about wearing a wig; the very idea made her shudder. She made do with what the circumstances offered.
“I will have to plan as I go.” As they all would: their training had prepared them for thinking on their toes. Usually against blade-wielding kung fu masters.
With a single look and sharp nod, Honoria broke from Vic’s side and slipped away to mingle among the guests, giving excuses for Vic’s absence if anyone asked.
Trust your sisters… They might not have trained as diligently as she had—as fanatically, if she believed her father, which she did—but they were incredibly skilled. Now, she just had to focus on her own assignment: investigating the larder room for any evidence of treason.
A Lady Never Tells (Women of Daring) Page 21