Struck by his words, Richard nearly missed the look that passed between the viscount and Victoria. It was a steely glint that would have cut lesser men to shreds of bloody flesh.
Algren’s eyes narrowed—for a flash—before a reptilian smile slowly spread over his face.
“Well, we must beg your pardon as we make ready to depart.” Lady Gadstoke broke into the heavy silence, her face pinched—in fatigue or pique. “I, too, find myself lacking in stamina.”
Richard didn’t know what had just transpired, but he would hazard a guess that Lady Victoria Daring had just laid down a challenge that Viscount Algren gladly accepted.
Lord…what am I to do with this woman?
…
Black’s father had summoned him home to the disgustingly palatial estate in Yorkshire. To the house where he’d dived headfirst into his life of pain and anguish and suffering and sin. And he’d do it again and again and again.
But he had to prove himself, had to get the Cards to see that he was worthy of their respect and not their derision, that keeping his secrets—forgetting his secrets altogether—was for the best. But if his father was summoning him, then he probably knew the truth, that his son had given himself—body and soul—to his tutor. That he’d fallen in love with the wrong person and had a passionate and blazing affair with him.
He wasn’t ashamed of his love, nor of his actions. He knew, though, that his father would be. His pater would look upon him with disgust. He would cut him off like a fetid limb, leaving him to die in squalor, without the funds he needed to live within his means. To live within the sweet, lush arms of opium.
A shudder rocked him.
No. He couldn’t let it happen. He had to get the Cards to help him, and he knew asking them directly wouldn’t work. So, he’d force their hand. He’d do as the Golden Man suggested; he’d get Richard Downing to do whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was for Richard Downing to break to pieces, falling at the feet of the Black Jack.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next morning, after another long night of staring into her canopy, Vic stared, disbelieving, at her father.
“There is little we can do with nothing to show for our work,” her father said, his voice grave.
“You cannot be serious.” Vic shot to her feet to begin pacing, her slippered soles padding across the floor of her father’s study. “He knew we were coming,” she spat, cursing, uncaring that Leavenson and Richard were there, both standing in separate corners, watching.
Gasping, Lady Gadstoke shot to her feet. “Victoria, rein in your anger lest you unleash mine.”
Usually, Victoria’s mother remained out of operation business, but she felt compelled to attend this one, citing the growing frustrations of being the wife and mother of government agents.
Somewhat chastised, Vic cast her gaze to the floor, watching her toes flick out from under her skirts as she walked.
Thrumming with unspent energy, Vic continued pacing, her chest rising and falling with shuddering breaths. She shook, her heart pounding, but despite the rush of blood through her veins, she was chilled to the bone. She’d never been so cold in her life.
Movement from the corner made her look just as Richard rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d left when they had last night, and had appeared at their door early that morning, so she knew he’d had little sleep.
He still manages to look handsome, nonetheless, she admitted grudgingly.
His golden hair shimmered in the morning light streaming through the window, and he was dressed in a tailored coat and breeches that fit his broad shoulders, trim waist, and wide chest to perfection.
No doubt she looked the worse for wear in her yellow day dress. Having slept little herself, she’d slipped from her bed before dawn and spent two hours in the dàochǎng, working the tension from her body. So, her hair was loose about her shoulders, her cheeks were more than likely flushed from the exertion, and she was still wearing the cloth shoes on her feet—she’d only had enough time to draw a dress over her head and have Mindy button it up.
“How did he know?” Victoria asked the question that had been eating at her all night. “Who told him we were coming? There had to have been someone who knew of our plans and warned the viscount—there is no other explanation.”
“Agreed!” both Honoria and Verity exclaimed. Love, who hadn’t been a part of the operation at Algren’s, remained silent, his dark blue eyes taking in the scene. He was a handsome lad and would make a strikingly handsome man one day, but he already had an air of seriousness about him that made him look much older than his nineteen years. It saddened Vic that her only brother was so hardened by his responsibilities within the family—he would be earl one day—and by the demands the agency already expected of him.
And they would expect more. Leavenson was only just beginning.
Leavenson stepped forward, his shoulders straight, his chin high, as if he were gifting them his presence and wisdom. The man’s very countenance made Vic frown.
“Never fear, I will be sure to investigate this matter personally.”
Disquiet whispered at the back of her mind. “I would like to help,” she remarked, her voice hard, her purpose inflexible. He’d already lost the chance to gain information from the man who died in his custody. She couldn’t trust him not to make another mistake that would foil all their plans utterly.
Yes, he was the man who helped spearhead their little operation, but since the beginning of their plot to unmask the criminals in the ton, it felt as though Leavenson were holding back, keeping just out of reach, seeming to work his own angles in all things. It smacked of his using her family for non-Crown business.
But she couldn’t voice her suspicions. Not yet.
“And what would you do, Victoria? March your way into Algren’s house and demand he give himself up to be shackled?” Leavenson asked, his usually cultured voice pitched.
“We cannot just demand entrance into his home, spouting that we’ve been investigating him and we know there used to be something incriminating in the hidden room we shouldn’t have even known about in the first place,” Verity countered. “There would be too many questions, questions we couldn’t answer without giving away the whole of our operation.”
Honoria crossed her arms to grab her elbows. “We would be branded criminals ourselves, for allowing our operations to fall into the open.”
“Quite right, Verity, Honoria,” her father declared. “We must continue our investigation of Algren in another way. Perhaps use our connections to his wife…see if we cannot get another invitation for a private party. You could easily slip through the house during a long weekend.”
His gaze on her, Vic couldn’t help but feel her hackles rise. She’d already investigated part of the house—he’d hidden whatever was inside. What would sneaking through his house do other than get her caught?
Besides that, the man already suspected her—if that snide, arrogant look he’d given her was any indication.
“What will that do?” she snapped. It was the look of weariness on her father’s face that made her regret her tone. “He knew we were coming, which means he knows our intent. He wouldn’t let us near him without his already having moved anything incriminating from his person or property.”
And what had he been hiding in that room? Whatever it had been, it was dastardly enough for him to have hidden it in the first place.
A chill moved through her, sucking the warmth from her limbs. The hot tears on her cheeks seemed to burn her skin. She swiped at them vehemently. Vic had allowed the tears, had fallen victim to the fear and the humiliation, but now she had to be strong.
For herself. For her family. Nothing else mattered.
Her father and mother gave each other a look Vic couldn’t decipher, then her mother stepped forward and took Vic by the arm, leading her back to the couch where she pulled her down to sit beside her. With her arm still clasped in her mother’s grasp, she could only stare up into her
father’s face as he looked down at her, his expression concerned.
“Darling, there is nothing we can do. Algren is a viscount; you trespassed in his private rooms. We cannot report his supposed crimes without first reporting ours.”
Shaking his head, her father said, “We will discuss this further tomorrow, once Leavenson has had the time to begin the new investigation.”
Victoria wanted to argue, but the weariness on her father’s face made her clamp her mouth shut. He was tired… As active and boisterous as he was, it was easy to think him lively and healthy and capable. But now, Vic couldn’t miss the way his face had seemed to age in the last several months. His cheeks had hollowed out, the laugh lines around his mouth and eyes had deepened into worry lines, and his eyes carried a constant weight of concern.
She knew without asking that she was one of the people who’d stolen his spirit. It slashed at something inside her. Hot, bitter sickness filled her belly, turning the saliva in her mouth to acid.
“In the meantime, darlings, I believe you should find something diverting to fill your time this afternoon,” her father declared. Honoria and Verity grinned, a conspiratorial glance passing between them. “Lord Richard, I would ask that you continue to act as escort to my daughter.”
Vic gasped, ready to insist it was too dangerous, but the lout stepped forward, dipping his head in acknowledgment.
“It would be my honor,” he said, his golden eyes pinned to her, a flicker of humor dancing like flames in his gaze. An answering heat licked at her belly, making the whole of her seem to light up.
Their mother coughed daintily, then stood, gaining everyone’s attention.
“Now that this nasty business has been discussed, I suggest we leave the gentlemen to their plotting. Honoria, Verity, I do believe you agreed to accompany me to luncheon with Lady Margaret and Lady Elizabeth.”
Had they? Vic turned to gaze at her sisters, who were smirking. Why hadn’t they told her?
Blast those two. That meant that whatever she planned to do for the day would land her alone with him.
The niggling desire to stay home and embroider almost made her decline Richard’s honorable offer, but she couldn’t stand the idea of hiding away from anything—and that’s exactly what she would be doing, hiding. From Richard, and how he made her feel.
And it wasn’t just the heat and headiness of his drugging kisses, or the strength yet gentleness of his arms around her. It was also the way he looked at her, as though she were precious and worthy of his attentions. With him, she felt as though he truly appreciated her insight and thoughts, her humor and her skills. And that was an aphrodisiac far more potent than anything Verity could concoct in her chemistry laboratory.
It was a new and utterly ravaging experience.
Vic rose to give her wobbling legs something to do, but before she could make her way to the door, he was there, walking beside her, the scent of him invading her nostrils…her soul.
“What would you enjoy doing this afternoon?” he asked, his head dipped so his lips were close to her ear.
She shuddered, hating her reaction to him, but thoroughly enjoying the heat of him so near.
“We could ride in Hyde Park,” he continued, “or visit the Museum for the new exhibit on the Egyptian pharaohs, or we can picnic along the Thames…”
Alone in Hyde Park. Alone in the museum. Alone along the Thames.
Her ridiculous hesitancy was just that, ridiculous. Certainly, it would just be her and Richard in their party, but they wouldn’t be utterly alone in any of those places. She simply needed to act as though she were a normal woman being escorted about town by an above-average gentleman, whilst trying not to give in to the acute urges to throw her arms around his neck and make him kiss her again.
Oh, and keep him safe from all danger.
Flicking her gaze to Richard, who was staring at her expectantly, she realized she still hadn’t chosen their destination.
“I suppose a ride…and then a picnic,” she answered, a soft smile tipping up the side of her mouth. “Though, I don’t suppose we can visit Gunther’s for ices on the way back?”
His chuckle made her melt as if she were a flavored ice treat.
“We will do whatever it is your heart desires,” he drawled, his voice husky, low, and intense.
She blinked up at him, taking in the fire in his eyes, the flare of his nostrils, and she wondered if he was still talking about their afternoon diversions.
…
Sitting beside the object of his deepest, most heated dreams was going to kill him, especially since he couldn’t touch her, not with so many people staring at them as they drove by. Richard hated the idea that Victoria might be stuck at home, so he was more than happy to agree to take her wherever she wanted. He just hadn’t thought about the consequences of being so close to her, and what her nearness would do to his insides. He felt on fire, every muscle in his body tense, every nerve in his leg blazing every time his thigh brushed against hers.
Torture. It was pure and hellish torture.
But he wouldn’t stop now even if she threw her dagger at him and pinned him to the wall with the blade protruding from his chest.
They’d just completed their final circuit of the park, where the crowds of those wanting to see and be seen had made their ride slow. He hadn’t minded, of course, because while he was used to the gawking stares of passersby, Victoria had taken affront to so many eyes on her person.
And it was strangely entertaining. She’d made an effort to remain calm and graceful in her conversations with those they stopped to greet, but as soon as the carriage drove away, she was back to being the Victoria he was coming to adore.
Adore? That wasn’t the correct word; it wasn’t profound enough.
“I cannot believe they would speak at such length about their dogs,” she said exasperatedly. “And why would someone go through so much effort to dress them as people?”
He chuckled, remembering how Lady Weatherly’s corgis had been dressed as Romeo and Juliet.
“She does know they die, doesn’t she?” Victoria blurted, snorting. God, but she was adorable. She didn’t care a wit about what anyone thought of her, and she couldn’t help but speak her mind. He could say it was a result of her being raised outside of the ton, in a separate culture, but he knew that even if she’d been born on English soil and raised by the bluest of bloods, she would still be the woman sitting beside him.
A woman he couldn’t help but admire.
“I am sorry.” Victoria’s apology flew from her lips, and Richard had to stop the carriage to look at her.
“For what?”
She bit her bottom lip, which only made his admiration of her grow heated. Her sapphire eyes dropped to her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.
“For your having to spend your time with me. I know there are better things for you to do.”
He furrowed his brow. “What else would I be doing?” he asked, incredulous. “I chose to be a part of this—if you remember.”
“I do, and you are a fool for it. You shouldn’t have forced your way into the agency’s operations, for now you are courting danger—with a woman like me, no less.”
He stared at her, his mouth agape. He slammed it shut at the look of self-mocking in her eyes.
Aware of where the carriage was parked, out in the open, he couldn’t slide across the seat and take her hands in his own as he wanted to, so he simply turned to face her, forcing her to look at him as he spoke his next words.
“Victoria, I chose to involve myself, just as I chose to force myself upon you as your escort. I want to be here with you… Why can you not see that?” His voice came out as a harsh whisper.
She let out a heavy sigh. “You don’t mean that. You cannot possibly understand the danger of involving yourself in this operation. Even now, there may be people watching us, targeting us.”
He stared at her, his heart thudding.
“Is that really the
reason you would refuse my company?” he asked, his gaze examining each of the ridges and smooth planes of her lovely face.
A burst of pink glowed on her cheeks.
“Well, the danger is real but…there is also the matter of you aligning yourself with me.”
He arched his brows in question. “And what is wrong with that?”
She sucked in a breath as if preparing to recite a play. “I am hopelessly bold, I spend too much time training for something that may not even be a just cause, and I cannot stomach landscape painting or embroidery. God. Just the thought of doing something so boring makes my mind revolt.”
A laugh flew from his chest, and he felt the biggest grin split his face.
“Darling Victoria,” he rasped, “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
She swallowed, and he could tell from the tension in her shoulders that she was determined to pull away. He wouldn’t let her.
“What has you upset?” he asked, his hands aching to pull her into him, to feel her pressed against him. To comfort her. To protect her. To cherish her and all she was.
“You were a fool to get yourself involved.” So, they were back to that. He opened his mouth to protest, but she continued sharply. “It is dangerous work; these are dangerous men seeking to keep their deeds quiet. You saw what they tried to do to you—you nearly died!” she bit out. “How could I live with myself if something were to happen to you because you were with me? No. I have to do this alone.” She turned away from him, her expression set in a grim mask. “I am better off alone.”
Richard growled, taking Victoria’s elbows into his hands as if to shake some sense into her. “No. You will not do this alone. You are not alone. Can’t you see that?” he demanded, uncaring of impropriety as he pulled her closer. “You are surrounded by people who love you, worry about you. They are as involved in this as you are, and have just the same to lose.” He tightened his grip, desperate for her to hear the words beneath his words, the meaning beneath what was said.
See all the people who care about you… See how much I care about you…
A Lady Never Tells (Women of Daring) Page 23