The Dukes of Vauxhall

by Vanessa Kelly, Christi Caldwell, Theresa Romain, Shana Galen

  “Does your father even know you’re here tonight?”

  “Of course he does.”

  “I’m surprised he approved of that outfit. Who are you supposed to be, anyway?”

  “Titania, queen of the fairies.” She flapped her wand. “I know I look almost as ridiculous as Richard. But it was Mamma’s idea, so I couldn’t really say no.”

  In fact, the outfit suited her perfectly. Creamy-colored silk crisscrossed her bodice, highlighting the swell of her small but prettily shaped breasts. The fabric nipped in at her narrow waist, and then belled out in gauzy skirts covered in spangles. Puffy sleeves, delicate wings, and a mask of silver lace completed the picture. Under the soft lights of the Grove it would be easy to mistake her for one of the fey folk, a shimmering creature too ethereal for the mundane world of men.

  “Ridiculous is not how I would describe you,” he said.

  “Oh, no? How would you describe me, then?” she asked softly.

  “Lovely, and exactly as a fairy queen should look.”

  Though she ducked her head, as if embarrassed, he caught her pleased little smile. “I did have another costume in mind, but Mamma put her foot down. I wanted to come as a pirate.”

  He laughed. “That would work well for you, too.”

  She waved her wand at him. “Which is what you are, obviously.”

  “How did I do?”

  Antonia inspected his costume—a white shirt with a scarlet sash, a big gold earring, a plumed hat, breeches, and high boots. Neither his father nor the Regent had been amused by his choice, both leaping to the conclusion that he was throwing his past in the face of the beau monde.

  They were right.

  “You need an eye patch to complement your scar,” she said.

  He snorted. “Only an idiot would wander around Vauxhall with an eye patch. I’d miss half the thieves out to pick my pocket.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone being stupid enough to try to rob you. But that earring of yours is splendidly barbaric, I must say.”

  When she went up on tiptoe to inspect the dangling gold hoop, Roman had to resist the impulse to pull her in close.

  “It’s quite a lovely piece,” she said.

  “I agree,” he said gruffly.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “I’ll tell you another time. Right now, I’d best return you to your friend so he’ll stop glaring daggers at me.”

  “He’s actually glaring at me.” Antonia held up a finger to indicate that the young man should wait. “There’s something I need to say to you before I go back, sir.”

  “So, this wasn’t purely a social visit.”

  She smiled. “No, you distracted me.”

  I’d like to distract you more.

  He squashed the errant image of Antonia Barnett naked in his arms. Fantasies of embracing naked women were hardly unusual for him, but they normally involved big chested, sexually robust lasses, not slender fairy queens.

  “Very well. I am all ears, Miss Barnett,” Roman said.

  She drew in a breath, as if for courage, causing her breasts to swell up in tempting little mounds over the tightly wrapped bodice. “I wish to apologize for my rude behavior the other night.”

  “What rude behavior?”

  “The bit at the end, when I stammered like an idiot and fled your box?”

  He forced himself to stop looking at her bodice. “Yes, that was rather odd.”

  “That’s the word for me. Odd,” she said ruefully.

  “I meant your behavior was odd. Since you didn’t bat an eyelash when your father and I were squaring off, I wasn’t sure what had flustered you so badly.”

  She flapped a hand. “I’m used to Papa’s moods. They’re harmless.”

  Barnett was anything but harmless.

  “Then what upset you?” he asked.

  “You’re the Duke of Clarence’s son. That threw me off a bit.”

  “Because I’m a bastard?”

  “No, because you’re the son of a prince. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “I’m still a bastard.”

  She waggled a hand. “A royal one.”

  “That fact doesn’t truly mitigate the scandalous circumstances of my birth or the shame that comes with it. I should think you would understand better than anyone.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “It’s really quite rude of you to be so frank about my situation. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

  “One of the worst kept in London, I’d wager.”

  She blew out an exasperated sigh. “True enough. But it does seem unfair in my case. After all, my parents did eventually marry. It’s annoying that people make such a fuss, as if I’m somehow hideously marked for life.”

  As inconvenient as it sometimes was to be the by-blow of a prince, Roman had a standing and degree of privilege denied to most others born out of wedlock. The Duke of Clarence’s support had opened doors and provided opportunities he’d been quick to leverage. And with the right sort of wife, he could climb higher still on the rungs of prosperity and power.

  Antonia’s options, however, were limited.

  “You’re right,” he said softly. “It’s not fair at all.”

  “I don’t care that much for my sake, but it’s hard on my parents. Papa gets so upset when people say nasty things about me.”

  “Ergo the dunking.”

  She let out a reluctant chuckle. “Poor Lord Totten. It wasn’t even much of an insult.”

  Lord Totten could go to perdition, as far as Roman was concerned. “Miss Barnett, there is nothing scandalous about you, except for a certain penchant for wandering off by yourself.”

  “Everyone has to have a hobby.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  She batted that aside. “If you want to know what I think—”

  “Not that you won’t tell me anyway.”

  “In my opinion, neither of us is shameful or scandalous,” she said firmly. “At least not by virtue of the actions of our parents. If people want to gossip and make false assumptions, that’s not our fault.”

  Roman found himself hoping she’d never hear the gossip about his notorious past, much of it true.

  “So my father keeps telling me,” he said, forcing a lighter tone. “He’s determined to see me reformed in the eyes of polite society.”

  “I didn’t know you needed to be reformed.” She tilted her head. “Perhaps that’s why Papa is averse to a friendship between us. He wants me to snag a rich, boring aristocrat with no scandal attached to his name.”

  “Did your father say anything about me, specifically?”

  “No. Papa just said I was to steer clear of you.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  “Mamma wouldn’t mind. She even remarked favorably on your, er, personal assets.”

  He practically choked. “I’m sure that went down well with your father.”

  Her golden gaze twinkled. “He wasn’t in the room at the time.”

  When the first strains of a waltz drifted over from the orchestra pavilion, she glanced back at her friend. “Oh, the dancing is starting. I’d better get back to Richard or he’ll pitch a fit.”

  “Are you promised to him for the first waltz?”

  “No, but he’ll worry if he can’t keep an eye on me.”

  “Has anyone asked you to dance?”

  Her tiny sigh, barely audible, made something go tight in his chest.

  “Then dance with me, Miss Barnett. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Her lips parted in surprise. “I…I really shouldn’t,” she stammered.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, people might not like it.”

  Meaning her father. Even behind the elaborate mask he could read that she longed to say yes.

  He gently wrapped his fingers around her small hand. “Surely the queen of the fairies answers only to herself.”

  She stared at him for a few seconds longer, then her cheerful, engaging grin slipped free.
“I do believe you are right, sir.” Still holding his hand, she dipped into a curtsy. “I should be honored.”

  When he led her to the dancing area, Richard Keane rushed up to them.

  “Confound it, Tony,” the young man blustered. “What the devil—”

  “I’ll see you after the dance,” she called out as Roman swept her into the first turn.

  She danced with a graceful energy, lithe in his arms. Her unabashed enthusiasm was charming, innocent, and entirely infectious. Something awakened in him that Roman hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Simple, unaffected pleasure.

  “Tony?” he said, arching his eyebrows.

  “It’s dreadful, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, I think it’s rather endearing.”

  A ladylike snort was her only reply.

  They circled through another turn, Roman steering her away from an overly enthusiastic middle-aged couple. A few steps brought them in front of the Regent’s supper box, where Roman encountered his father’s scowl.

  “The Duke is glaring at us,” Antonia said.

  “As is your friend—along with the lady by his side.”

  She craned around him to look, not missing a step. “Oh, Richard’s mother. She wants me to marry him, so she’s probably annoyed that I’m dancing with you, not him.”

  “And how does young Richard feel about the proposed marriage?”

  “He said he’d rather drown himself than marry me.”

  “What a blockhead.”

  She sparkled up at him, as if he’d paid her the most extravagant compliment.

  “If he doesn’t want to marry you,” Roman said, “why is he so annoyed?”

  “Because he knows Papa would be displeased. Aside from the fact that my father dislikes you—although I’m still not sure why—I’m supposed to be snagging a respectable aristocrat, remember? Not scampering about with you.”

  “I’m sure my father is thinking exactly the same thing.”

  “Then since we’re both in heaps of trouble, we might as well enjoy it.”

  He was beginning to think he’d like nothing better than to get into trouble with Antonia Barnett. Still, it would be a huge mistake for both of them.

  All too soon, the waltz came to an end. He spun her in one last turn, bringing them to a gentle halt by a stand of walnut trees. Her cheeks were prettily flushed, and her full mouth curved in a joyful smile that seemed to beg him for kisses.

  “Thank you, sir. That was utterly wonderful.”

  She was utterly wonderful—blunt to a fault, but with an innocence and sweetness to her nature that called to him.

  That artless innocence was exactly why he needed to sound the retreat.

  He stepped back and gave her a formal bow. “You are most welcome, Miss Barnett. And now I should take you back to your friends.”

  She went still, and a moment later all the pleasure was snuffed from her gaze. “Of course,” she said. “You must wish to return to your family.”

  He nodded, not wanting to say anything that would sound even more dismissive. He was about to take her arm when he felt something round and hard press into his back and knew exactly what it was.

  “Don’t make a fuss,” came the growl from behind him. “Or I’ll blow yer stinkin’ guts all over the ground.”

  * * *

  It had all been going so splendidly, especially when Roman pulled her close to his powerful body and spun her into that magical waltz. Even though she hardly knew him, simply being in his arms had filled her with a joy that made her giddy. He was so different from other men. He went head-on for all the tricky bits but treated her with humor and respect. With him, Antonia didn’t even feel odd. She felt interesting, and perhaps even desirable.

  But when their dance ended, he’d withdrawn, making it clear their budding friendship was at an end. And who could blame him? Despite his illegitimate status, he was the son of a prince. Roman Cantrell was clearly slated for better things than marriage to the socially awkward, slightly scandalous daughter of a trader.

  Now, on top of everything else, they were about to be robbed.

  She glanced over her shoulder at three men lurking in the shadows under the trees. Their hats were pulled low, and they wore scarves over their chins. The one behind Roman held a gun to his back. Antonia suspected the others were armed as well.

  “We’re in the middle of the Grove, for Christ’s sake,” Roman said. “You’re really going to rob us here?”

  “We ain’t in the middle of the Grove, and we ain’t gonna rob you,” came the answering growl. “Back up, the both of you.”

  “Let the girl go,” Roman said in a tight voice. “Then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  Their captor let out a low, ugly laugh. “We’ll get what we came for, Captain, but you back up now or I’ll shoot you both on the spot.”

  Antonia exchanged a startled glance with Roman. He’d clearly been targeted, but why?

  “We’d best do as he wants,” she said, worried for him.

  Roman quietly cursed before directing a killing glare at the men. “Very well. But if you hurt my companion, I’ll throttle you with my bare hands.”

  When one of the men clamped a hand on Antonia’s shoulder and pushed her toward the trees, she dropped her wand in the dirt. Roman let out a snarl at the rough handling, but the men ignored him, hustling them both into the trees, away from the lights and noise of the Grove.

  As bad luck would have it, they were heading toward one of the more secluded corners of the Gardens. Unlike the old days, most of Vauxhall was now well lit, precisely to prevent this sort of activity. But there were still a few dark corners where lovers engaged in illicit activity and innocents strolled at their peril. Antonia suspected that their captors had been watching Roman, and waiting for the best moment to take him.

  This was no simple robbery.

  Roman took her hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he murmured.

  He seemed entirely in control and not the least bit worried about the outcome of this unpleasant adventure. Whatever was going to happen, she knew he would do his utmost to protect her.

  Antonia’s skittering nerves started to settle, allowing her to think clearly.

  They tramped in grim silence until they came to the wall that marked the edge of the Gardens. There were only a few lanterns scattered among the trees, providing but a fitful light. The sounds of the orchestra had faded, as had the noise of the revelers. Only minutes away, hundreds of people ate, danced, and chattered. She and Roman could very well suffer an ugly fate, and no one would be the wiser until too late.

  Roman gave her hand a final squeeze before letting go and putting some space between them. He obviously wanted to give himself room to act when he saw an opening.

  Do the same.

  Antonia inched away from the man guarding her, noting the small pistol he’d pointed directly at her. When Roman turned to face their captors, putting the wall to his back, she followed his lead.

  “Gentlemen, perhaps we can now proceed with the robbery,” he said. “That way we can all get on with our evening with no harm done.”

  The leader shook his head. “I told you—this ain’t no robbery. But we’ll take care of that, once the other bit’s done.”

  That sounded disturbingly ominous.

  Roman tilted his head, as if merely curious. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “Aye. Cantrell, captain of the Mary Lynn.”

  She felt rather then saw Roman freeze, like a predator who’d just realized he was on the wrong end of the hunt.

  “I’m also the owner of Cantrell & Sons Shipping,” he said. “Which means I’m well able to pay any ransom you want to let the lady go.”

  “Captain Cantrell is also the son of the Duke of Clarence,” she said. “There will be retribution of the highest order if you hurt him.”

  The other two men shifted uneasily, but the leader remained unmoved. “We know who he is, and we could give a
shite.”

  That was bad, very bad. If the threat of royal vengeance didn’t concern them, what would?

  “And Griffin Steele is Captain Cantrell’s cousin,” she added, taking a desperate stab.

  “Steele?” said one of the other men. “Bloody hell.”

  “Antonia, please stop trying to help,” Roman said.

  “Mr. Steele will be very annoyed to know we’ve been threatened,” she persisted. “And I’ve heard he’s quite bloodthirsty in exacting his revenge.” Antonia had no idea if that was true, but she hoped it sounded frightening.

  Roman leaned down and murmured in her ear. “You’re giving them another reason to murder us on the spot.”

  While that made no sense, she had to admit she didn’t know much about the mental reasoning of the criminal classes.

  “We don’t give a shite about your threats,” snapped their captor.

  Antonia made a final effort. “My father is Captain Anthony Barnett. He’s rich, and he’ll pay you, too.”

  “Maybe we should take the girl up on it,” put in one of the underlings. “This ain’t turning out right. He’s late.”

  “Shut your gob,” their leader snapped. “We promised him, and I won’t go back on my word.”

  “Care to tell me who he is?” Roman asked in a casual tone.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Then you’ll pay for what you did to our family.”

  Antonia pressed a hand to her stomach. So this was personal. She couldn’t help wondering what Roman had done to make himself a target of such bloodthirsty intent. But she couldn’t worry about that now. They had to make their move before Roman’s unknown enemy showed himself.

  She let out a little shriek and pointed toward the dark woods. “Is that he?”

  That her gambit worked didn’t say much for the intellect of their captors. When the men peered into the trees—one actually turning around to do so—Antonia reached down and pulled the knife from the leather sleeve strapped to her calf. She quickly spun and sliced at the arm of the man holding Roman at gunpoint. He yelped and jerked up, accidentally discharging his pistol. In an incredible piece of good luck, the ball struck one of the other men, who clapped a hand to his shoulder and stumbled back with a loud groan.