Before he could regain his sense of logic, Phineas pulled his greatcoat and mask and hat back on, pocketed the pearls he’d hidden away, and crept back outside to the stables. Warner and young Tom had both turned in for the night, and he swiftly saddled Ajax himself.
Avoiding the main road in favor of the pastures, he made his way to Donnelly House. The windows were dark, so however upset Donnelly had been by the robbery, he appeared to be managing a night’s sleep. He remembered where Alyse’s bedchamber had been, and stopped Ajax beneath the small stand of trees to the west of the house to go the last few yards on foot.
Swiftly he climbed the trellis, leaned out, and pulled open the window with his fingertips. He’d never snuck into Donnelly House before, since in the past he’d always been welcomed there. Things had changed, and not just because he was currently disguised as a dead highwayman.
Putting one boot on the windowsill, he shifted his weight and then silently stepped inside. As he pushed through the closed curtains, it occurred to him that he didn’t know what to say to her. Over the past ten years he’d become accustomed to the idea of deception; it was a necessary part of war. But deceiving Alyse, especially when she’d been deceived by a man before—one who’d promised to marry her, yet—felt wrong.
And still he stood there, in her bedchamber, in the costume of a highwayman. Of course, after tonight he supposed that he was a highwayman. Leaving the curtains parted just enough to let in a sliver of moonlight, he moved silently closer to the bed. She stirred, turning onto her back—and let out an indelicate snore.
With a silent curse, Phineas backed away a step. Her damned aunt. Fighting the urge to cast up his accounts, he moved quickly and quietly to the door and slipped out to the hallway. Christ. That had fairly much frightened any thoughts of romance out of him.
If Alyse wasn’t in her old bedchamber, then where was she? As her aunt’s companion she was likely within easy earshot, but the rooms on either side of Mrs. Donnelly’s quarters were empty. Likewise the one across the hallway seemed to have become an auxiliary wardrobe of dowdy clothes.
He turned a slow circle in the dark. Now that he was here, he was damned well going to see her. Hm. Her governess had used to room on the third floor across from the storage attic. Taking a breath, he climbed the back stairs to the top floor of Donnelly House.
The door was latched, but the hinges were so loose that all he had to do was lift up on the door and push. She’d left the curtains in the small window open, and he could clearly see her curled up on the narrow bed. Phin clenched his jaw. The diamond of East Sussex, and her own family kept her locked up in the attic room. Well, not locked up, but expected to stay there.
For a long moment he simply gazed at her, at her hand curled beneath her cheek and her long chestnut hair half covering her face. Good God, she was lovely. Just looking at her left him feeling protective, possessive, and filled with longing for something that might have been. Perhaps still could be, if he didn’t get himself hanged or completely disowned by his family.
“Monsieur?” she whispered, her dark eyes opening wide. She sat up, clutching her blankets to her chest.
He shook himself. How could he do this without lying to her? “Je regrette,” he apologized in a murmur, and withdrew the pearls from his pocket, holding them out to her. “Pour un baisser.”
She reached out, then pulled her hand back again. “You’ll give me back my pearls in exchange for a kiss? And that’s all you want?”
Phin nodded. “Oui.”
“A bit of honor from a voleur de grand chemin?” she whispered, her cheeks darkening.
“Un peu,” he agreed. A very little bit of honor from a highwayman.
Alyse took a breath, then nodded. “Very well. For the pearls.”
His heart hammering, Phin sat on the edge of her bed. Gently he tilted up her chin with his gloved fingers, and touched his mouth to hers. They’d kissed before, but he’d never been able to take his time, to know the softness of her mouth, to feel the passion she held deep within her. He did so now, advancing, retreating, deepening the kiss until she moaned.
He wanted all of her. Whoever he was pretending to be at the moment, though, he’d given his word that he wouldn’t make more trouble for her. He was already treading a very narrow road. The old Phin, before he’d joined the army, wouldn’t have realized there was even a road to cross. He’d thought only of himself. Now all he could think of was Alyse.
Regretfully he pulled back, stroking his fingers along her cheek. “Merci, mademoiselle,” he murmured, turning her hand to place the pearls into her palm. “Votre bassier est bien valoir son prix.” Yes, her kiss had definitely been worth the price. And more.
He stood again, taking a rose from the bouquet beneath the window, and placed it across her lap. “Merci,” she whispered.
Phin nodded, opening her door to slip out back into the black hallway. “De rien.”
It wasn’t nothing, though. He doubted he would ever be the same again. And for tonight, at least, he welcomed the change.
“Good morning,” William greeted as he rolled into the breakfast room, Andrews as usual behind him.
Phineas deliberately finished chewing his bite of ham and eggs. “Good morning.”
“I trust everything is well? Andrews tells me he saw your valet head out to the stables last night.”
Mentally crossing his fingers, Phineas put a grin on his face and nodded. “Gordon wanted to try a new pair of dice. He won five quid off Warner.”
“He gambled out in the stables,” his older brother said quietly, no trace of emotion in his voice. “Your servant.”
“I wanted to join them, but I drank a bit too much port at the soiree.”
“I see. Andrews, Digby, excuse us for a m—”
“Good morning, my sweet brothers,” Beth sang, twirling into the room, her ginger curls bouncing. She kissed William and then pirouetted around the table to give Phineas a sound hug from behind.
William smiled. “You’re chirping quite merrily this morning, Magpie.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” she returned, going over to the sideboard to select her breakfast. “It is a very lovely morning, and I’m going riding with a very handsome man who’s promised me a very pretty poem.”
Phineas had his doubts about that. About the poem bit, anyway. “That sounds very nice.”
His sister laughed. “And what are your plans for today?”
“I thought I might go into Lewes and visit one or two of the taverns William suggested the other day.” Or visit the surveyor’s office to take a look at some local maps and compare them with the puzzle he’d acquired.
The tavern nonsense was another black mark against his character, but if he admitted that he was still stepping into the middle of Quence business against William’s wishes, he would probably be asked to leave. While he wasn’t certain whether being directly disowned was better or worse than the disappointed look in Beth’s eyes and the…nothing coming from William, being banished wouldn’t serve his purpose. Not yet. And not after last night.
“Perhaps you’d care to go riding with Richard and me,” Beth suggested, her happy expression fading.
“No worries,” he said breezily. “I’ll amuse myself. Do you think Lady Marment might be seeing callers?”
A knife clattered onto William’s plate. “May I have a word in private with you, Phin?” he grated.
“I’ve no wish to have my ear chewed off,” Phineas returned. “You told me to mind my own affairs, William, and so I am.”
Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth. “But—”
“What did you think, Beth, that I would gallop back to Quence and set everything to rights again?” Finishing off his tea, he pushed away from the table and stood. “If you’ll recall, I’m the one who set everything wrong in the first place. Excuse me.”
He took the stairs two at a time. Inside his bedchamber again, he leaned back against the door and took a deep breath. Ten years ago that
had been who he was—angry, defiant, and without an ounce of subtlety. If he needed to appear to be that hellion again in order to stay near his family while he discovered what the devil was going on, then so be it. But he didn’t have to like it. Not one damned bit.
No one was surprised, of course; as far as his siblings were likely concerned, he’d never stopped being that foolish boy. Shaking himself, he grabbed up his greatcoat, choosing to leave the military one for whatever late-night activities might still be required.
As he headed downstairs again, he paused. He’d intended to go straight out to the stables for Saffron and then into Lewes. From the raised, excited voices in the breakfast room, though, they had a visitor. One who’d apparently been robbed. Steeling his expression to one of reluctant curiosity and hoping that Alyse had come along as well, he pulled open the breakfast room door.
“…bloody Frenchman made off with my poem!” Richard, Lord Donnelly, was exclaiming, his color high.
“A Frenchman stole your poem?” Phineas broke in, furrowing his brow. No Alyse. “The very fine one you promised to Beth?”
“Phin,” she muttered, blushing.
The viscount faced him. “The very same.”
“Begging your pardon, but I have it on good authority that we’re at war with France. Where were you, that a Frenchman could steal anything?”
“You missed the first part of the conversation,” William said, his own face pale.
Bloody wonderful, Phin. Kill your own brother. Finish the job, rather. “Clearly,” he said aloud. “What’s going on?”
“A highwayman held up the Beaumont coach last night,” Beth supplied.
“Two highwaymen. Both of them Frogs.”
“And they took your poem.”
“For God’s sake, Bromley, keep up, will you?” Donnelly snapped. “You’re the officer here. You should be out protecting us from the damned French roaming the countryside.”
Splendid. If everything continued with its usual irony, he could well end up chasing himself across East Sussex. “Perhaps you should begin the tale over again,” he suggested.
“I don’t have time for that,” the viscount returned. “I only came to warn William and to beg Beth’s pardon for not taking her riding this morning. I’m on my way to the constabulary.” With that he bent over Beth’s hand, nodded at William, and brushed past Phineas into the hallway, Digby on his heels.
The three siblings looked at one another. Say something, Phineas ordered himself. “Perhaps The Gentleman’s more spry than we thought,” he offered.
“We haven’t had a coach robbery for a dozen years,” William replied. “Obviously someone is using the local legend to their benefit.”
“No doubt.” Phineas shrugged into his greatcoat. “Did Donnelly say anything else?”
“He said the leader rode a huge black stallion and that he made everyone empty their pockets. He even took Claudia and Alyse’s jewelry. The only one he left alone was Mrs. Donnelly.”
Phineas looked at his sister. “He took Alyse’s jewelry?” he repeated, allowing a little of the anger he had felt at himself to seep into his voice.
“Just be thankful no one was shot,” William said.
“Two Frenchmen shouldn’t be difficult for the constabulary to find, should they?” Beth asked.
“No, they shouldn’t,” William agreed. “In the meantime, however, you are not going anywhere without an armed escort, Magpie.” He turned his head to eye Phineas. “And you shouldn’t, either.”
“I’ve been killing Frenchmen for ten years,” Phineas commented. “I believe I can manage two of them.” He saluted his siblings. “It might even be a bit of fun to see if I can hunt them down.”
“Leave that to the authorities,” his brother said sharply.
“You’ve given me nothing else to do here.”
“I would rather you go do whatever it was you had in mind before you heard about this.”
Phineas lifted an eyebrow. “Is that an order, Lord Quence?”
“It’s a damned suggestion.”
This was going well. Now, in addition to Quence’s land troubles, William had a highwayman and an errant brother to worry over. Phineas went out to the stables for Saffron. The hole he was digging was so deep now that he’d never be able to climb out of it if he fell in.
Chapter 11
“Thank you, Jones,” Alyse said, stepping down from Richard’s barouche. “We’ll be back in a moment.”
The driver doffed his hat. “No hurry, miss.”
With Mary behind her, Alyse entered Daisy Duvall’s Dress Shop to retrieve the two new gowns for her aunt. Ernesta had intended to supervise the errand herself, but the encounter with the highwayman last night had overset her. Whether that was because of the pistols and threats or because the dashing fellow hadn’t troubled to take her jewelry Alyse didn’t know, but she had her suspicions.
Richard, despite his anger at being robbed of six pounds, a watch, and a poem, didn’t seem overly concerned over anyone’s safety. He certainly hadn’t objected to his female cousin going out in an open coach with only a maid and an old groom for company.
As for her, she didn’t know what to think. For heaven’s sake, she’d kissed a highwayman—a man whose name she didn’t know, and whose face she’d never seen. A responsible member of the household would have screamed for assistance and fled upon seeing him. True, she didn’t feel much loyalty to her cousin or her aunt, but that didn’t quite explain it. It wasn’t even that she found a robber…irresistible, though she did like the sound of his voice. She could think of no one who lived more freely than a highwayman. And in kissing him, she’d felt it, too. A spark of fire. A spark of life. And she liked it.
The story of the robbery was already spreading through Lewes, and she had to recount it twice just in the dress shop. The half dozen ladies present had already come to the conclusion that The Frenchman, as he’d been dubbed, unless he was the ghost of The Gentleman, must be a disenfranchised French nobleman who’d barely escaped Bonaparte and was now trying to gather enough funds to purchase back his lands and title.
“You never said all of that,” Mary whispered from behind a stack of hatboxes as they left the shop.
Alyse hefted the heavy dresses draped across her arms. “I didn’t know any of it,” she returned. “They’ve made that all up among themselves.” It did sound very attractive, though.
“But—”
“Miss Donnelly.”
Alyse turned around as Phin Bromley hopped down from his horse. Her lips twitched with a smile she couldn’t help. “That is a yellow horse.”
He grinned. “You’ve admired him before.”
“Yes, but I thought I must have been dreaming.”
Phin patted the horse on the withers before he left the animal to approach. “Poor Saffron. He’s too exquisite to be believed.”
“Too vivid, you mean.”
Without asking, he took the gowns from her arms and led the way to Richard’s barouche. “Donnelly came by this morning,” he commented, setting the dresses across one seat. “Are you well?”
“Yes. I’m fine. It was quite exciting, actually.”
He faced her. “He took your jewelry.”
The serious, concerned expression on his lean face surprised her. She hesitated. In a day or two, though, she could say she’d found the necklace abandoned in the garden or something. “I will miss Mama’s pearls,” she said, “but I’m glad no one was hurt.”
“I doubt your fellow passengers reacted as charitably.”
Alyse covered a brief smile. “No, they didn’t.”
Phin held out his arm. “Do you have time for a cup of tea and a biscuit?”
She shouldn’t. Aunt Ernesta would be angry if she didn’t return immediately, and by way of punishment she would probably end with another basket of mending to do this evening. But Phin was the only person she’d encountered who’d asked about her losses. And the highwayman wasn’t the only man she’d kissed
lately. Oh, for goodness’ sake. People wrote morality plays about women like her. She couldn’t even honestly say that Phin was any safer than The Frenchman. Just the opposite, more likely.
Alyse wrapped her fingers around his gray sleeve. “I have a few minutes,” she said.
“Good,” he said, as they crossed the narrow street to the corner bakery. “What did this fellow take from everyone?”
“He had the men turn out their pockets, and he took Lady Claudia’s jewelry as well. A few pocket watches and twenty or so pounds.”
Phin opened the door for her, then pulled out a chair at one of the dozen tables in the small open area at the front of the shop. “Donnelly said they were French,” he commented, taking the seat opposite her and signaling for tea and biscuits to be brought to their table. “In fact, he seemed to think it was my fault for allowing a Frog into Britain.”
She snorted. “From the way he and Lord Charles were ranting, it almost seemed as though Bonaparte himself had fired on us.” His hazel gaze met hers, and her breath stilled. “I’m glad you weren’t there,” she said quietly.
He lifted his scarred right eyebrow. “And why, pray tell, is that?”
“Because you wouldn’t have been content with cursing at the Frenchman after he disappeared. You would have fought him, and then he would have killed you.” The thought chilled her to her bones.
“Doubtful,” he said dryly.
“Don’t scoff. I know you’re a trained officer, but he seemed very deadly.” And very enticing, though surprisingly not as much so as Phin. She stopped talking as a girl brought a teapot and cups, along with a plate of warm biscuits, to the table. Once they were alone again, she sat forward. “What I don’t understand,” she said in a low voice, “is why a man whose country is at war with ours would risk notice by robbing English noblemen on their own soil, and for such a small reward.”
“Perhaps he was anticipating a greater reward,” Phin suggested, biting into a biscuit.
“Two dozen coaches left the assembly within an hour,” she countered. “I’m just thinking aloud, but it seems to me that he and his friend could have made off with a great deal more if they’d wanted to.”
Before the Scandal Page 12