Rogue's Lady

by Robyn Carr

  A slight frown creased Tyson’s brow. “Rest easy, Bevis. I’m well aware of the impending dangers.”

  Bevis turned away from the bunk on which he was folding Tyson’s clothes. “I ain’t fer empty talk, Cap’n. Ye’re young, ye’re good, but ye ain’t never been careful with women.”

  Which was why, Tyson admitted only to himself, he was on his way to his own wedding. He’d lost his head and bedded her. She filled him with a strong longing, and he’d moved quickly and carelessly to take her. But he did not intend to pay a dearer price in the end than wedding her. He hoped to still leave himself a way out.

  “Everything is ready but my trunk,” Tyson told his servant. “I’m going to see if Doré is ready to leave.”

  “Ye’ll find ‘im on the quarterdeck, Cap’n.”

  “Good. After you’ve loaded the trunk on the coach, we have a few errands to take care of in London before going to Chappington.”

  After the trouble on the Lady Lillian, Doré was not so unreasonably pleased to be going to his friend’s wedding. He questioned Tyson liberally about his bride, her family, and the business venture, and he requested that Tyson go over each event again and again, no matter how much Tyson chafed at the prospect. Although Tyson resisted giving each intimate detail, he realized he was telling the story repeatedly, beginning with his initial arrival in London in early April.

  Tyson gave Doré a brief tour of the furnished town house he had rented.

  “But I thought the baron wished to keep his daughter close at hand.”

  “He made me agree not to take her out of England, and England is quite large.

  “One more stop,” Tyson announced. “The picture I made of Michael Everly is displayed in a shop window near Hyde Park. It seemed a good place to be viewed by passing gentry and peasant alike. Mr. Humphrey has a room nearby, keeping an eye on the people who stop to look at it, and making himself available to anyone who might know Everly’s identity.”

  Doré looked at the picture displayed in the shop window. Written above the likeness were the words “Do you know this man?” Below, smaller, it said, “Inquire Within.”

  “I think that’s the most foolish thing you’ve done so far, posting that portrait.”

  “I plan to leave here with at least some information about the man.”

  “I only hope, my friend, that these English do not find an excuse to hang you.”

  “No one is going to know there is any link to me. Mr. Humphrey is well paid.”

  “I think that should Lord Ridgley or this other man, Lord Moresay, discover that you have killed a man in a duel, your problems will only grow. Perhaps you should tell at least one of them.”

  Tyson banged on the coach, indicating they should proceed. Bevis called to the horses, but their passage through the busy London streets was agonizingly slow. Tyson gazed out the window at the tenders and peddlers, the richly garbed ladies, the gentlemen, and the commoners who jammed the streets.

  “Tyson,” Doré pressed. “Should you not confess this duel to the baron?”

  “If he is looking for a way to disadvantage me, should I give him more fuel for his fire?”

  “And if he finds out?”

  “How?”

  Doré sighed in frustration and held his tongue. He, too, gazed out the window as they passed through Hyde Park, slowly moving past the busiest shopping district in London near the Exchange. It seemed that they dragged through the crowded streets, and both men were quiet for a long time.

  Doré’s eyes were caught by one particular woman in the teeming masses. “Magnifique,” Doré whispered, amazed. “She should bring her talents to France, where she can be appreciated. Tyson, look at that woman.”

  Tyson looked briefly and shrugged. “So?”

  Doré laughed. “Could you have lain with her for so many years and not recognize her? It is she: the most wonderful whore in all the world.”

  Tyson regarded the profile of the tall, auburn-haired woman. She was fashionably dressed in a fox-trimmed cloak of pale green, carried a muff, and wore a plumed, wide-brimmed hat. Jewels sparkled at her ears and on the fingers of her uncovered hand. Could she have had any reason for coming to England except to find him?

  He never for a second believed that the foppish Michael Everly had been anything to her but a pawn she had used in a deadly game.

  “Lenore,” Tyson said.

  “Do you know the man with her?” Doré asked.

  Tyson considered him carefully, though he could not see his face. “I don’t think...” He stopped himself and waited as the couple turned to walk away. “Good God.”

  “Who is it?”

  “His name is Charles Latimer,” he said slowly. “He is the baron’s half-brother.”

  “Mademoiselle has known many men, but an Englishman related to your bride’s father? This is too much?”

  “Doré, when you were in Virginia, did my brothers mention what Lenore was doing?”

  “It was June and I kept my visit short. She was said to have been somewhat retired, with the gossip about her being most malicious. But I believe she was there.”

  “I arrived here in April, our voyage a good one at six weeks. If the baron had sent an agent to Richmond to investigate my worth last May when I originally suggested my offer, there would be time for Lenore to have been found and brought to London to be a witness against me. Five months would accommodate a round trip to America.”

  “Could it have been this brother the baron sent to America?”

  “No,” Tyson said. “No, I have seen him in England twice since last May.”

  “Perhaps Mademoiselle Fenton came of her own accord and simply met this man.”

  “It couldn’t be such a neat coincidence. Lenore has never been to England, and Latimer didn’t seem to know the first thing about the colonies. His trade has been confined to England as far as I know. He is quite wealthy, but not a world traveler. Lenore would not have known how to seek him out, for though I wrote to my brothers about my business venture, I did not name my partner. Charles Latimer knows that I am invested with the baron, but it is not common knowledge.”

  “Should we assume that your future father-in-law seeks the aid of his brother?”

  “If Lord Ridgley is working to dig up my past with the help of Latimer, their plans for me are more grim than I feared. I have not been pleased with the baron’s advantage, but my instincts warn me more against Latimer. And the baron’s dislike for his brother seems obvious.”

  “So, we do not mention this rare sighting, eh? No one knows discretion better than a Frenchman,” Doré said. “It is good; you can make use of my help after all.”

  Tyson looked at his friend. He felt some relief, but at the same time he had not wished to put anyone else in jeopardy.

  “No friendship need go so far as this, Doré. I have no way of anticipating the possible risks, for this trouble grows more complex with each day. You may excuse yourself now, with no criticism from me.”

  “There is more safety in numbers. Now, let us go over the details again, starting with this duel. I’m sure there is something you missed.”

  “More, it appears, than even I perceived. Fortunately, the ride to Chappington is a long one.” He raised a brow and smiled. “You have always envied my association with Mademoiselle Fenton. After we have accomplished this wedding, I suggest that you return to London and renew your acquaintance with her.”

  “Ah, it is my pleasure to be of help to you, Tyson.”

  Doré found the Chappington manor to be a most interesting place. It was large and filled with many beautiful and expensive objects. Having visited England many times, he was not surprised by the magnificence of the very old, refined collections that decorated the place. But it was the family to which Tyson would tie himself in marriage that fascinated him most.

  The baron was more receptive to his meeting than expected. He seemed gruff by nature, but friendly nonetheless.

  “If it is not enough that I all
ow my daughter to marry an American, his closest friend is French. My neighbors will declare me mad.”

  “Not if you are careful to remind them, my lord, that your new son and his friend are very, very rich.”

  There was laughter as all acknowledged that money made friends in an otherwise hostile world. Doré could not help but notice that the baron’s temperament strongly resembled that of Tyson’s father—a crusty edge covering a soft heart. Doré immediately began to doubt the baron’s wickedness.

  Paul and Evelyn were a reserved couple who seemed less than worldly, yet noble and amiable. They could endure even a Frenchman, if he was polite and a friend of Tyson’s.

  But Doré had not been prepared for Vieve, who met him with a charm, warmth, and grace that left him gaping in astonishment. Tyson had prepared his friend for a scheming wench whose calculated plotting had rendered Tyson a victim. He had described her as conscious of her good looks and bent on achieving wealth through her carefully designed seduction of an American guest.

  She was beautiful. Although she seemed intelligent, he soon doubted her capacity to seek out and trap one such as Tyson.

  In a very short time Doré suspected that this young vixen had caused Tyson to trap himself, for her father was a serious-minded man who kept a careful eye turned to her welfare. Perhaps Tyson was too close and too confused by emotion to draw a more objective conclusion. It is good I am here, Doré thought, to untangle the poor man’s mind.

  “Now that I’ve made your acquaintance, I understand my friend’s mood much better,” Doré told Vieve.

  “How so, sir?”

  “He has been so out of sorts, so reluctant to share his good fortune with me. It is said, mademoiselle, that you can trust a Parisian with anything but your woman.”

  The lovely young woman smiled, but her brow was knit in confusion. Doré looked into her eyes and saw that she was not prepared for such flirtation. She was indeed young and guileless. And Doré, with great amusement, reminded himself that Tyson had very little experience with innocence.

  He tucked Vieve’s hand into the crook of his arm and requested a tour of her beautiful home. As they walked through hallways, sitting rooms, parlors, and galleries, they spoke about the captain. “I suppose you were not prepared to meet someone like Tyson.”

  “He is not like any other man,” Vieve returned.

  “Forgive me for such honesty, little cherie, but I will warn you that these Americans know very little about being in love. Tyson will even admit he has never been much distracted by women.”

  “I would have thought there had been many beautiful women in Tyson’s life,” she said quietly.

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “No...but... actually, he hasn’t told me much about his life before he came here. It’s just that... I assumed there must have been many.”

  “Oh, there have been women, damoiselle, but none like you, I assure you.”

  “I am not very different from others.”

  “Mon Dieu, but you’re very different from the women Tyson has known.” He could not suppress his laughter. “I’m only surprised that you accepted his proposal. You are so young and sweet, and he often behaves like a mean-tempered scoundrel.”

  Vieve smiled brightly and Doré nearly sighed with envy. “He does have a rough exterior, but monsieur, you’ve met my father. I am accustomed to such a disposition.”

  “Had you known Tyson’s father,” Doré added, “you would be even further astonished. He was very much like Lord Ridgley: gruff, stern, and his outbursts frequent. It is plain that Tyson is destined to be exactly like him.”

  “He is easily angered,” she admitted quietly.

  “Ah, cherie, you must be patient with him,” Doré said soothingly. “Those very traits that make his faults are the same qualities that have made him a rich and powerful man. He is very important in his country; when you join him there as his wife you will be surprised by the deference with which he is treated. He is stubborn and impatient, true, but he is a kind-hearted soul. He behaved as a doting father to the women in his family.”

  “It is hard to think of Tyson as doting.”

  “Ah, he is a good merchant trader. He is afraid that if anyone finds out how deeply he cares, he will suffer some expensive disadvantage in the bargaining. He has learned how to cover his soft heart very well.”

  “You could be describing my father,” she said. “I admit, I had some doubts. You make me feel better about him. Thank you.”

  “Doubts?” Doré questioned. “It is not too late, little petite. Did you ever consider rejecting his proposal?”

  She shook her head, and her smile took on a wistful quality. Her eyes were positively aglow. “Not for one moment.”

  “If he disappoints you, mademoiselle, you must tell me. I am a good friend. I will help you in any way.”

  Vieve laughed at him. “You flirt like an able courtier, monsieur. I will manage, but I thank you just the same.”

  Doré shook his head in bemusement. Tyson’s family would share his surprise when this little Tory flower joined them in Virginia. Much to his mother’s consternation, the only women who had previously interested Tyson had been ones like Lenore Fenton. But Vieve bore no resemblance to Tyson’s past preferences.

  This little Vieve could trap even a man of Doré’s frivolous nature. If it was not enough that she was everything a man could want, she adored Tyson. “I doubt that Tyson is quick to see his fabulous good fortune,” Doré said. “But you will give him time.”

  “I hope, monsieur, to give him many, many years.”

  Still trembling inside with silent laughter, Doré returned from his tour of Chappington Hall to the drawing room, where all the others were gathered. He was involved in light conversation with Vieve as they entered, and met, as he had expected, Tyson’s suspicious frown. It was good to know that he could still read his friend so well. Tyson was actually possessive of this woman, a rare thing indeed. Doré passed Vieve to her intended very quickly and graciously.

  “Your friend is a welcome addition, Tyson. He speaks very highly of you.”

  “I can imagine,” Tyson said somewhat testily.

  Vieve smiled brightly. “He assures me that you are quite charming, when you have left me to fear your temper.”

  “And you believed him, I suppose?”

  Doré smiled in good humor. “He is afraid, madam, that I will take you away from him. These Americans have always been jealous of the French. We are so much better with the ladies.”

  Tyson made a mocking bow. “My thanks for the warning. It would please me if you would leave the rest of the revelations for me to share.”

  “With pleasure, Tyson,” Doré returned.

  Late in the evening, when Evelyn and Paul and Vieve had all retired and a long discussion with Boris had come to an end, Doré took the liberty of pouring a brandy for himself in the downstairs drawing room. He took the drink with him upstairs to enjoy in the solitude of his room. At the top of the stairs he could see the figure of a man who stood motionless in the hall. As he approached, Tyson turned.

  “Are you lost, Tyson?” he asked teasingly, quite certain that he lingered outside the door of his bride’s bedroom.

  “I’m on my way to bed,” Tyson said shortly.

  “I thought it was the custom to wait until after the vows. Isn’t your room further down the hall?”

  “I assure you, monsieur, I can find my room without any help from you.”

  “You do not seem well, Tyson. Is something wrong?”

  “I’m fine,” Tyson gritted out.

  “Good,” Doré said. “Don’t despair, my friend. Even the most worldly of men enters marriage with caution. I doubt you will be misunderstood. This confusion and fear, it is normal, I promise you.”

  “Thank you, Sir Prophet, but I assure you, I am not confused about what I am doing. I have given a dozen explanations to you, and you know quite well what problems have emerged.”

  “Yes,�
�� Doré confirmed. “You do have problems, but I fear you mistake them. You have been so concerned that the woman betrays and uses you, and I think you are wrong. Her father may seek some advantage for her in both business and marriage, but it is a father’s quest. And the little one loves you. Make it right with her, if you can.”

  “You are free with advice for a man who is older than I by one year and has yet to marry.”

  “I have not married, but I am a connoisseur of women; I pride myself in my ability to judge their worth. I warned you long ago that Mademoiselle Fenton would one day poison your wine and you must see her for what she is; and I warn you now that this little Vieve, this golden flower, has not done what you think she has.”

  “You have only spent one afternoon in their company, while I have known this family for months.”

  “Ah, but Tyson, you granted Lenore far too much rope for which to hang you...and you will tie your hands with this woman who deserves your affection. Upon ships and battlefields, you were always the expert, but when it comes to women, I am a quicker judge.” Doré shrugged meaningfully. “I know it is difficult for you to trust women, my friend, but do not go too far to abuse yourself.”

  “Vieve is my problem,” Tyson said tersely. “You may acquit yourself of responsibility where she is concerned. I accept your assistance on the other matters.”

  “Very well,” Doré said with a smile. He passed Tyson and went on to his room, turning back toward Tyson when he was well down the hall, finding him still lurking in the shadows in some kind of panicked indecision. “Poor bastard,” he said to himself. “This passion does not sit well with him. He is too light of French blood.”

  Vieve had chosen a pale blue, almost white satin gown to wear for her wedding day. She asked Harriet to arrange her hair in a curled, upswept coiffure that would lend her height and a mature appearance. The satin décolletage was lined with sparkling stones, and a sheer batiste of the same color rose to her throat. The sleeves of the dress were tightly fitted and the waist pinched, which left a long train of ice blue satin to trail behind her. The color gave depth to her eyes, and the style made her appear trim, but generously endowed. As she viewed herself in the mirror, her reflection pleased her.