* * *
‘We have to allow for the fact that Cassandra is right.’ Jocelyn paced the office downstairs at Argosy House with an agitated stride. Channing pushed a hand through his hair, thinking through all his friends had reported.
Jocelyn and Nick had stayed behind and questioned people at the crash site. The information they’d brought back was disturbing, but not necessarily reliable. ‘Cassandra might be overwrought. It wouldn’t be unusual for her to have imagined what she saw,’ Channing argued.
Jocelyn shot him a censorious look. ‘If Cassandra says she saw the man deliberately push Alina, then she did.’ Jocelyn was stubbornly block-headed when it came to his wife.
Channing studied his friend. Jocelyn was a good critical thinker. ‘You believe Seymour was behind this,’ Channing surmised. It was a conclusion he was unwilling to draw simply for its implications— mainly that the game had escalated.
‘I do,’ Jocelyn said seriously. ‘Nick thinks so, too. Seymour is scared. He knows his rumours have been rendered insignificant. He knows the comtesse’s popularity is growing thanks to her association with our women. He can no longer fight her alone. Alone, she wasn’t much of a threat. There was no one she could rally except for a paid team of solicitors. But now—’ Jocelyn waved a hand to indicate an invisible army of people who could rise to Alina’s cause ‘—Seymour knows all the comtesse has to do is whisper her concern and he will be exposed. It is only her discretion that has kept her from publicising the situation thus far and Seymour knows it.’
Jocelyn stopped here and gave a smug smile. ‘He also suspects we are doing more damage to him behind the scenes. Any day we’re going to find proof about who he really is and what he really does. He’s in a race against time and he’s decided the best way to win that race is to eliminate Alina.’
Channing’s anger started to boil. ‘When will we have enough go after Seymour? Surely the solicitors have uncovered enough by now? Perhaps we can even bluff him into confession if we can serve up a tasty enough deal.’
‘Soon,’ Jocelyn affirmed. ‘Don’t rush this. We’ll only get one chance. We have to make it stick. A man like him has got out of jams before. He’ll know all the loopholes. This has to be airtight.’
Channing slammed a fist down on the arm of his chair. ‘I can’t sit here doing nothing. I don’t want Seymour to think for a moment that I will tolerate such a blatant attempt to harm someone under my protection.’
Jocelyn stopped and fingered a paperweight. ‘Under your protection? Those are strong words, Channing. What are you prepared to do in order to provide that protection?
Channing met Jocelyn’s gaze slowly. ‘Anything, everything. With my body if need be, with my name. If I’d been there today—’
‘With your name,’ Jocelyn interrupted. ‘I don’t mean in the way we’re doing now with the girls playing their part. I mean more permanently. You have to talk her into it. She doesn’t have a choice now.’
To make her Mrs Alina Deveril, wife of Mr Channing Deveril. It was a dream he’d never allowed himself to contemplate for too long. It wasn’t distasteful, it was just improbable. ‘Marriage would be complicated.’
Nick gave a wry smile. ‘All marriages are complicated in their own way. If love was easy, everyone would do it.’
‘Aside from whether or not Alina would have me, it would mean giving up the agency,’ Channing said slowly. It was one thing to know that in theory, to actually do it would be hard, but he would for Alina. To truly be Mr Deveril, he would need a different presence in society. The agency could go on, but he would have to remove himself from any attachment. ‘I’ve been thinking of retiring.’ But he was also thinking perhaps the reason he hadn’t asked Alina before was fear of rejection. He didn’t know if she’d say yes.
‘I’d put the question to her in terms she can understand, like her safety.’ Jocelyn pinned him with a hard stare. ‘While you’re thinking, think about this. The afternoon’s effort wasn’t a warning. It was an attempt on her life and it was botched.
‘Now, ask yourself what are you prepared to do? Convince her to do the same.’
Anything, everything. The words like a litany through his brain. ‘I’ll put the question to her tonight.’ It would take all of his considerable skills at persuasion, but he was prepared to give up everything for Alina Marliss, even the agency. He understood Jocelyn’s comment fully. Alina was alive either because someone had made a mistake or because Cassandra had an incredibly good aim.
* * *
Who would have thought Cassandra Eisley had such a good aim? Seymour was seething with anger when the news came. Eagleton was with him, his mouth set in a grim line. The attempt to trample the comtesse had failed, the only casualty being a hat box.
‘Send a letter,’ Eagleton said in quiet tones. ‘We must act now while she’s frightened, before she can think clearly.’
Seymour gave Eagleton a puzzled look. ‘A letter? Why?’
‘We can’t make another attempt on her life. It would look too suspicious. They’ll be alert to it if they even remotely think the accident today was foul play. We can’t threaten her, but we can threaten someone she cares about.’
‘Her sister? Her family?’ Seymour went to the desk and drew paper and ink, thinking he was starting to understand Eagleton’s train of thought.
‘No, you idiot. Think for a moment. Do we want her to have allies? No. Does she have allies? Yes. Those damn rakes out of Argosy House have chosen to champion her. We want her alone, the way she was before. Alone, she has no protection. We have to separate her from her allies. Now, tell me, who do we eliminate?’
‘Channing Deveril,’ Seymour answered smugly then the reality hit him. ‘We’re going to kill a peer’s son?’ That seemed very unlike the syndicate. At heart, they were cowards, preying on those who couldn’t defend themselves.
‘Hopefully, we won’t have to. We just have to convince the comtesse any association with her puts him at risk.’ Eagleton gestured to the blank paper. ‘Now, write. Take this down just as I say it.’
Chapter Twenty-One
The worse things are, the better one has to dance. Alina had learned that adage years ago in France. No matter what the comte did to her, come evening, it was time to put on a pretty dress and jewels and dance as if nothing was wrong; the more wrong it was, the prettier the dress, the bigger the jewels. No one must see beyond the perfect façade.
There was no comte here, but the lesson applied. She’d rather be at Argosy with Channing, tucked away in the little room, instead of Lady Houghton’s ball. Cassandra and Annorah had argued otherwise; it would be difficult to convince everyone the accident on Bond Street was nothing if Alina were to absent herself from their scheduled events.
In the end, she put on a pale-blue gown she’d yet to wear, had Celeste pile up her hair and off she went, ready to pretend.
Attending the Houghton ball was a special kind of torture. News of her narrow escape had circulated and everyone was eager to have her relive the details. Didn’t people think about how horrifying it was for the victim to keep retelling the experience? It was made even more terrifying by the knowledge that it wasn’t an accident at all. Channing had told her of Jocelyn’s suspicions and Cassandra’s belief she had been pushed.
Seymour wanted her dead. He must be very frightened indeed to resort to those lengths. Well, she was frightened, too. When she’d begun this game she’d not anticipated it going to this level. Now she feared for herself, she feared for Channing, she feared for all the people involved. She knew from experience, one did not operate well from a position of fear. This had to end quickly.
The League had done its part tonight. She’d danced with Amery, with Jocelyn and Nick. She’d danced with Channing, too. Between the four, they had kept her dance card empty of partners who would importune her with curious questions
about the afternoon.
They’d also kept her safe. These men had appointed themselves as her guard, not that anyone was going to threaten her at a ball. She did feel those chances were slim, but apparently Channing did not agree. He was drawn tight tonight, his trademark ease and good humour forced, if anyone took time to notice.
‘I’m going to go to the retiring room for a moment,’ Alina whispered to Channing after the last group of visitors moved on.
‘Take Cassandra with you, or Annorah,’ Channing urged.
Alina shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine. I need a few minutes to myself.’ It was true. All the socialising, all the pretending that everything was fine, had worn her out. She wanted to regroup.
* * *
The retiring room was thankfully empty. It was close to the supper waltz and everyone was on the floor dancing. She could have some privacy. Not that Channing’s protection was unwanted. She just wasn’t prepared to have so many people care about her. It took some getting used to.
Alina sat down in front of a vanity and went through the motions of checking her hair. It didn’t really need checking. Celeste’s pins always held. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and let her posture sag.
‘Comtesse de Charentes?’ A timid voice broke her peace.
Alina straightened and opened her eyes. Of course, the one time she wasn’t perfectly poised, someone would see. Channing had probably sent a maid up to check on her.
The maid was young, maybe not even a regular employee of Lady Houghton’s, but hired for the evening. She held out an envelope and bobbed a curtsy. ‘This arrived for you. I was to give it to you immediately.’
Alina took the envelope warily. This was out of the ordinary and, given the course of the day’s events, there could only be one reason for it. She forced her brain to function. ‘Thank you, did the messenger wait for a reply?’
‘No, milady.’
Of course not. If the messenger waited, he’d have to contend with Channing and the other members of the League. There would be questions, assuming she told them about the note at all. Alina gave the maid permission to retire and slid the note out of the envelope.
It was short and direct, its intent clear. She crumpled it in her hand. She was not telling Channing about this. He would never tolerate the choice that had to be made. She’d been right about the need for this to be resolved before it escalated.
Alina fingered the crumpled paper. Seymour was attempting to blackmail her into dropping everything in return for leaving Channing unharmed. Well, she would see this not as blackmail, but as an opportunity to confront him and finish him. Alina folded the paper into small quarters and put it in her reticule. She was tired of those she loved being used against her. Her family had suffered for her; her sister had suffered for her; Channing would not die for her. She wasn’t worth it. She drew a deep breath. Whatever her feelings were for Channing, they were over now. This had to end and she would end it. She would give herself one last night and then she would say goodbye.
* * *
She danced with Channing when she returned to the ballroom. It was the supper waltz and everyone would be going in to eat afterwards. ‘Do we have to?’ she asked Channing. ‘Surely it would be acceptable if we left. We’ve done our duty.’
Channing smiled. ‘Your town house, one hour. There’s something I want to discuss with you.’ Alina thought of the note in her reticule. She had twenty-four hours in which to confront Seymour before his threat became real. Whatever he wanted to discuss or do, this would be goodbye. She would make it count for the rest of her life, however long that was.
* * *
‘Alone at last.’ Channing took the champagne she offered. He kissed her on the cheek. ‘You were marvellous tonight. I know it can’t have been easy.’ He’d already got rid of his coat and cravat. His shirt was open at the neck and the sleeves were rolled up. She had a sudden image of what it would be like to go home with him after every ball. It would be like this: champagne and dishabille.
At the sofa, he set down his champagne and reached for her foot, pulling off her slipper. He ran his hand down her foot, kneading the ball of her heel. ‘How does that feel?’
‘Divine.’ Alina sighed. Far too divine. He was making it hard to leave him and yet what choice did she have? To choose otherwise meant Channing was a dead man. She couldn’t protect him from a bullet. Even if the League managed to bring down Seymour, there was no guarantee of safety for Channing. In fact, it would be worse. Seymour had made that clear. He wasn’t the gunman. The gunman was a random fellow, hired to shoot if a signal didn’t come from Seymour within the allotted time. Any time after that was fair game. It wouldn’t even have to be immediate. But Alina had one chance to stop it all.
‘I think this has to stop,’ Channing began in low tones.
‘Of course it does. It has become too dangerous,’ Alina answered slowly, unsure of where Channing was going with it. She’d let her thoughts wander for the briefest of moments and she’d missed some key piece of information.
‘I don’t mean Seymour.’ Channing glanced at her, his hand halting in its massage. ‘I mean us, slinking around to libraries, Argosy House, your house, oak trees in parks, carriages.
‘I like the excitement,’ Alina answered warily. He had her thoroughly off balance now.
‘I like it, too, because we’re together.’ Channing went on, resuming his massage. ‘I’ve been thinking about being together a lot and I’ve decided I want to be with you always, not slinking off to places, not playing games of discretion so no one finds out and makes a scandal out of it. I want to legitimately be with you. I want to dance with you more than twice, I want to arrive at functions with you, leave functions with you and not need a reason to.’
‘What are you saying?’ Alina’s mind raced. She was pretty sure she knew, but she wanted him to say the words in the hope that she was wrong. She didn’t want this, not now when she should be leaving him. She thought this had been settled.
‘I’m saying that I would like to marry you. Would you do me the honour?’ Channing’s eyes held hers, intense and penetrating as if they could wring the right answer from her. They almost could. But they were destined to disagree on what the right answer would be.
She tried to pull her foot away, but he held it tight. ‘Don’t back away, Alina.’ His voice was hoarse, a sign of the emotion behind his proposal. ‘This isn’t about Seymour and scandals.’
Alina swallowed. She didn’t want to hurt him. Would he understand that? Maybe later. She doubted he’d understand it now when he believed he had his heart on the line, but she had to try. ‘You don’t want to marry me, Channing. You want to save me.’ She gave a small smile and shook her head. ‘I appreciate it, but I don’t need saving. I can save myself.’ I can save you, too, if you’ll let me.
‘This isn’t about saving,’ Channing interrupted.
‘Yes, it is,’ Alina fired back. ‘It’s what you do. Just look at the agency. You save young boys from the street and teach them job skills, you give them a respectable future. You save young gentlemen on the brink of a poverty they won’t be able to cope with and help them create fortunes. You give women a few hours of pleasure against the loneliness of their lives. You are doing this because you want to protect me. When the threat passes, you will be stuck with me and you’ll wonder why. You are reacting out of fear because of what happened today.’
‘You are not about saving, Alina. You are about loving,’ Channing said softly. She did yank her foot away at that and tucked her feet up underneath her skirts. If he touched her again, she’d be lost. She’d expected him to shout, to argue the claims she’d made. She’d wanted to make him angry, wanted to fight, maybe even throw a few things. There was a pretty little vase on the table. It was easier to walk away when she was angry. But he hadn’t played fair. He’d said the word ‘love’
. It was the first time either of them had used it out loud with each other.
‘You shouldn’t love me, Channing. I’m not worth it.’
‘Give me one reason why,’ Channing persisted. She saw now that he’d anticipated her far better than she’d anticipated him. He’d known she would resist. He’d even guessed the grounds on which she would resist.
‘I can probably do better than that, but to start, there’s the agency. You’d have to give it up. A married man can’t be part of the League of Discreet Gentlemen.’
‘I will retire,’ Channing answered easily, without a moment’s hesitation. ‘I’d been thinking of it for some time now, anyway. Next?’
She had not expected such abject capitulation. ‘Society will talk. They will say you married poorly. There will be scandal.’
‘How could they say that of you? You’re a French comtesse and I’m a second son. The match is equal enough.’
Alina stood up and began to pace. ‘You’re being obtuse, Channing. You know what I mean.’
Channing arched his eyebrows in superiority. ‘A few minutes ago you knew I was proposing marriage and you made me say it anyway. Now it’s your turn. If you’re going to refuse me, you’ll have to come right out with it.’
‘It’s not my title that’s not good enough. It’s me. I’m not good enough. I’m nothing but a high-class whore, Channing. I’ve done things no decent lady would consider doing, I’ve used sex for manipulation.’ Her voice started to break.
Channing exploded to his feet. ‘Stop it, Alina. That is the comte talking, that’s what he wanted you to believe. You did those things to survive. It’s not part of who we are, it’s not part of what we do. It’s never been a part of that.’
‘We’ve played games,’ Alina cautioned. ‘You can’t say that.’
‘Because we like to, it’s our nature. But it’s also in my nature to recognise when the game ends and it becomes something more.’ Channing gripped her shoulders. ‘I played games because it was the only way I could have you, the only way you were available to me. I want you.’
London's Most Wanted Rake Page 20