The Rogue's Revenge

by Lucy E. Zahnle

  Glaring at Norworth with thinly veiled hostility, Giles took his seat beside Concordia. Norworth, for his part, did not bother to mask his animosity toward Mountheathe at all. He turned his back pointedly upon Giles and addressed Concordia. "The concert is about to start again, Miss Lannington, so I will bid you good evening." Casting an angry, suspicious glance at Mountheathe, he said cryptically, "If you are ever in need of rescue, you may call upon me." He bowed, fixed Giles for a moment with a killing stare, and strolled away, leaving Concordia feeling, despite the conscientious attentions of her swain, unaccountably bereft.

  ***

  During the last few weeks, as news of Robin's return to England spread, more and more tradesmen demanded that Giles settle his accounts with them. Once, broad smiles had greeted him whenever he stepped into a commercial establishment, but now those smiles had dimmed and he found credit increasingly hard to get. Clarissa, his mistress, too, seemed colder lately and he had the strong, unpleasant impression that she was looking about her for a new protector. Even his old friends in the quiet back-street hells he frequented hesitated to accept his drafts and vowels.

  Giles sat by the fire in his study one evening, subjecting a gilt- edged invitation to hard scrutiny. Sipping brandy from a crystal goblet, he read the card once more with a discouraged heart. 'Sir William and Lady Blayne, with the gracious support of the Earl and Countess of Malkent, request your presence at Blayne House to attend a ball honoring the Duke and Duchess of Lynkellyn'. Somehow, the Rogue had managed to worm his way back into Tracy's good graces.

  Fuming, Giles crushed the elegant card. "Hell and damnation! If only Robin had died on the point of my sword ten years ago!" he muttered. 'It could still be arranged,' an inner voice prompted him. An insult at Ryl's ball might push the Rogue into a challenge. No, that would never do. Giles had sorely neglected his swordplay over the years and, as for pistols, he had always been a sorry shot. A duel was more likely to get him killed than the Rogue.

  This business required a subtler hand. A ruinous intrigue accomplished with finesse was worth a thousand duels. Amberley's bride was the weakest point in his defenses, Giles decided. If she were to disappear, Robin could not claim Grandpapa's fortune because he would have neither wife nor child.

  Perhaps the little strumpet might be persuaded to leave him. Considering her past, her loyalties were undoubtedly available for purchase, but if a bribe failed, he could always spirit her out of the country somehow.

  Giles balked at the thought that leaped into his mind. He had never actually murdered anyone and was not eager for the experience; unless it were absolutely necessary. His hands curled into fists.

  Glancing at the pile of bills stacked on his desk at the far end of the room, he knew that he needed to find money somewhere soon. Persistent duns and monumental gambling debts were eating into his dwindling funds at an appalling rate. Although in the end he would certainly crush his cousin's claim to the Amberley wealth, he needed an interim income to sustain him until he achieved his victory. Therefore, he had been pursuing alternative solutions to his financial problems.

  He was courting Concordia Lannington, an heiress with a dowry of forty thousand pounds. With her elfin figure and chestnut curls, Concordia even reminded him a little of his dearest Val although he found the younger lady's independence of mind irritating and coarse. That willful streak would have to be beaten out of her after they were married.

  Although spectacular to most people, Concordia's dowry could hardly compare with the overflowing Amberley coffers, but Giles was facing destitution and running out of options. He was prepared to settle for forty thousand and be happy, at least until he'd spent it all.

  He tossed off his brandy, refilled the glass, and sank back in his chair to watch the hungry flames dancing in his hearth, determined to line his pockets with somebody's gold, even if it meant mayhem, marriage, or murder.

  Chapter 14:

  In Which Death Looms Upon His Grace's Horizon

  Robin and Lord Bellefield rode daily in the park in the afternoon, ignoring the outraged sensibilities of Society. After the first week or so, fewer people gawked or glared at Robin, but no one with any pretense to respectability acknowledged him. However, the ladies of the demi-monde, always the first to forgive a rich man his trespasses, smiled and nodded whenever they saw him.

  For Bellefield, the duke's notoriety was a boon. Delighting in the courtesans' attention, he twisted in his saddle to get a better view. "By Jove, Robin. Look at the bosom on that one! And I think she likes you if that enticing smile she's tossing your way is any indication. Stap me, if you don't have every bit o' muslin in London casting out lures after you. Envy you, old man."

  "Don't! It's only my fortune they want to lure."

  "Have you decided which one you'll have yet?" Bellefield said. "I'd take Lady Clarissa Chalfont. She's beautiful, refined, discreet and, as Sir Cuthbert Chalfont's widow, she is received everywhere. She's expensive as the devil, though."

  Robin lifted his quizzing glass to survey the throng of women parading seductively before him. "Chalfont? Which one is she?"

  "That one." Tony gestured with his riding crop toward a willowy woman dressed in pale green. Sitting in an open carriage, she smiled at Lynkellyn, invitation in her sultry hazel eyes. Her chestnut ringlets gleamed in the sun and her breasts, barely contained in her low-cut gown, hung over the coach door, tempting closer inspection.

  "Is this some sort of joke, Tony? She looks like Lady Malkent!"

  "Oh, Lord! I didn't think -- that is, she was just the most attractive to me and -- I am sorry, Robin."

  "It doesn't matter. I don't intend to take a mistress. It's all I can do to manage my wife."

  "Her Grace seems a very sweet and gentle soul."

  "You've never made her angry, mon ami."

  "Mountheathe will be relieved, at any rate," Tony said. "They've been laying odds at the clubs on whether you'd steal La Chalfont from him out of spite."

  "She's Bridland's mistress?"

  "Until someone with more money comes along. Are you interested after all?"

  "Just imagine the ton's furor if I took a mistress who resembled Val! Not to mention Giles's irritation if I stole her from him," Robin grinned. "The amusement it would afford me might almost be worth the aggravation; but no. I'll not pander to the gossips. I've better things to do with my time."

  He urged his horse forward and Bellefield followed suit. "So you are just going to ignore all those gorgeous creatures."

  "I have had my fill of strumpets, mon ami. I'm ready to settle down to married life and a staid old age." Robin glanced at Tony's doubtful face and laughed. "You are young, sir. Someday, you may feel as I do."

  "Impossible!" Tony scoffed. "I enjoy my freedom too much. In fact, if you don't mind, Robin, I believe I'll go back and pay my-er- 'respects' to the 'ladies'."

  "Good hunting, mon ami." Robin smiled. Looking up, he suddenly stiffened in his saddle, staring at a short, stout, sallow man talking to one of the women. "Nom de nom! What the devil? Who is that?"

  Bellefield frowned. "That, my friend, is Sir Winston Rochedale, a sharper and a thoroughgoing rotter. He lurks on the fringes of Society, preying on fools and innocents and grabbing any chance he can to move into higher circles. He's beggared at least three young bucks in the last six months. One of them blew his own brains out. I avoid the blackguard and I'd advise everyone else to do the same. Do you know him?"

  Robin's eyes lingered on the distant gentleman. "I met him in the Caribbean, but his name was Archibald Tarney then. I'm not best pleased to see him here."

  "He is thick as thieves with Mountheathe," Tony said.

  "Indeed!" Robin's mouth tightened. The thought of an alliance between Giles and Tarney twisted his stomach.

  "Well, I'm off to flirt with the pretty ladies." A wide, white grin split Bellefield's tanned face. He raised his hand in salute as he rode away. Frowning a little over Tarney's presence in London, Robin turned his horse towar
d Berkeley Square.

  When he arrived at home, Laddock informed him that her grace had gone out with Lady Malkent, but was expected back shortly. An increasingly familiar uneasiness gnawed at the pit of his stomach. When, to his great surprise, he and Lucia began to accumulate a few friends, he had been forced to allow her more freedom. Every time she left home, however, he worried that she would not return.

  Laddock took Robin's hat, cane, and redingote, saying, "The Dowager Countess of Easterbury awaits you in the Gold Salon, Your Grace." Robin's brows rose. "She asked to see either you or Her Grace and insisted upon waiting when I told her you were both from home."

  In the Gold Salon, Robin discovered an imposing woman of perhaps sixty years pacing the room, clad in green and gold brocade, her unpowdered silver hair curled close to her head. She turned sharp, disturbingly familiar blue eyes upon him. "You are the Duke of Lynkellyn?"

  Robin bowed. "I am. How may I help you, milady?"

  "I've come for my niece!"

  Robin blinked. "Pardonnez moi?"

  "My niece, man! Lucia Cothcourt. I intend to remove her from this snake pit at once!"

  With some amusement, Robin eyed the charming white and gold elegance of his snake pit. "Lucia Amberley," he stressed the surname, "is my wife. Her place is by my side."

  "Lord Saddewythe told me the circumstances of your marriage, sirrah! You are an unabashed rapscallion! I intend to remove that poor child from your clutches and request an annulment."

  "Has it ever occurred to you that she may not wish to leave?" Robin asked. Lady Easterbury harrumphed skeptically. "And then, naturellement, there is the very real possibility that Her Grace may be enceinte," he mused. The countess blushed, unprepared for such a situation. "The marriage was consummated and we have been living as man and wife," he thrust home in gentle tones.

  Lady Easterbury sank onto a divan, shaking her head. "Why? Why did you abduct Lucia? She was finally beginning to overcome the shame of her parents' mésalliance."

  Robin conveniently fell back upon half-truths. "Abduct Lucia, my lady? She consented to our marriage and we eloped! Allow me to assure you that she is safe in my care. I can give her every material comfort."

  "You are as ostracized as she is! How do you intend to overcome that?"

  "I can't, my lady, but at least I won't abandon her to the world's whims like the Cothcourts have!" Robin's eyes narrowed. "If you or your fine family care so much about her, my lady, why did I find my duchess slaving away in the Saddewythe's schoolroom?"

  "I do care! More than you can know. I want to help her now." Lady Easterbury dabbed a lace handkerchief she was carrying at the tears that trickled down her face. "I want to atone for my nephew's wretched marriage and my brother's hidebound reaction to it. Oh, but they seemed so happy."

  "Who?" Amberley queried, bewildered.

  "Albert and Elise, of course. When they eloped, I -- I helped them," her ladyship confessed, her voice hardly above a whisper. Her shoulders slumped and she suddenly looked very old. "I thought my brother would surely relent and accept the lovers after they were wed, but I was wrong. That stiff-necked old buzzard preferred to take his vengeance on Patrice by destroying poor Albert and his bride."

  "Patrice?" Confused, Robin sank onto the sofa opposite his guest.

  "French girl who jilted him!" The countess sniffed tearfully. "Anyway, the newly-weds left England under a cloud and the only news I had of them came from Albert's occasional letters, until Martin, my late husband, discovered I was receiving them. He ordered any other correspondence from Albert to be brought directly to him and he sent it to my brother. I was not aware that Albert and Elise had even had a child until my husband's death three years ago. Then Mr. Gleason told me of Lucia's birth and dear Albert's death, and Elise's too, of course." Her ladyship shook her head. "I have no patience with the present Earl of Cothcourt or his sister. Lavinia Laddon is enough to drive anyone to Bedlam! I never call on her, of course, so I did not see Lucia while she was living at the Laddons'. When Gleason told me she was at Saddewythe Manor, I drove up to Essex and paid Lady Winifred an afternoon call. Since she and I are barely acquainted, I daresay she found the whole episode rather odd, especially when I asked to visit her schoolroom, but I wanted to see Lucia without interfering in her affairs."

  "And?" Robin prompted when the countess fell silent.

  "She seemed reasonably content and she was safe enough in her humble, but respectable life so I didn't tell her I was her great aunt. I just left her there and cultivated Lady Saddewythe's acquaintance in order to get news of her when I wanted it. But now..."

  "Now I have opened the Pandora's box to which the Cothcourt family had consigned its' pesky black sheep and she's back to haunt you." Robin said. "If you had really cared, my fine lady, you would have taken Lucia home with you and allowed her to live a gentlewoman's existence or perhaps even have found her a proper husband!"

  "What man would have her to wife after the life she's lived?"

  "I would, my lady. Lucia and I are both of age and our marriage is legal. You are too late to change anything!"

  "Did you know of her past when you wed her?"

  Robin's tone softened. "Yes. Our common experiences serve as a sturdy thread to bind us together."

  The room's ornate double doors swung open and Lucia stood on the threshold. Her gown of white silk trimmed with dark blue ribbons caressed her figure and gave her an oddly bride-like quality as she stepped into the room.

  Robin rose to greet her. "Ma chérie!" he smiled, taking her hand and leading her toward Lady Easterbury. "You have a visitor. My lady, this is my wife, Lucia Amberley, Duchess of Lynkellyn. Lucia, may I present the dowager Countess of Easterbury? She is your great aunt."

  Lucia made a hesitant curtsy and extended her hand. "How do you do?" she said coolly, mindful of the last visit her kinsmen had paid her.

  Her smile bittersweet, the countess flung her arms around Lucia's neck. "Oh, my dear child! I am so sorry!" Suffering this embrace passively, Lucia's eyes met Robin's in confusion over Lady Easterbury's shoulder.

  "Let me look at you," Lady Easterbury said, stepping back. "Are you well, child? You look a little tired. Are you eating and sleeping properly?"

  "I am doing wonderfully, my lady."

  "You must call me Aunt Corinna." the countess chided gently. "I've come to take you home."

  Robin wandered away from the women to a window on the far side of the room. He stared down into a small walled garden, refusing to face the possibility that Lucia might choose to leave Lynkellyn House with her aunt. He ignored his plummeting heart and tried to divorce himself from the ladies' conversation.

  "To take me home?" Lucia's amazed eyes flew to Lady Easterbury's face.

  "Certainly! You don't think I shall allow you to stay here with this -- this profligate, do you? Oh, my poor lamb! How hard it must be for you to be imprisoned in this shame-ridden house and forced to endure the Lord only knows what vile acts at the hands of that dreadful creature." She jerked her head angrily in Amberley's direction.

  "All is not as it seems, my lady," Lucia said patiently as Laddock entered, holding a silver tray with a calling card upon it.

  "Lord Mountheathe is below, Your Grace," he said, bowing to the duke.

  Robin's mouth tightened in disgust. "très bien! Show him to the library. Ladies, if you will excuse me?" As Laddock left, Amberley bowed and started for the door.

  "Robin!" Lucia said.

  He turned in the doorway. "Ma chérie?"

  "Be mindful of your temper, Your Grace. Lord Mountheathe has a way of roiling you."

  Robin smiled. "Giles is not worth your concern, ma vie."

  Glancing at Lucia's face, Lady Corinna knew that the girl cared nothing about Mountheathe's safety. Her gaze shifted to Lynkellyn whose granite grey eyes, so coldly challenging toward her, had gentled and warmed as he regarded his wife and the countess wondered if perhaps she had misjudged the situation.

  "I would feel mor
e at ease, Robin, if..." Lucia was saying.

  "If, ma chérie?"

  "If you would leave your weapons here." She spoke in a breathless rush.

  "But I never go unarmed!"

  "Nevertheless, it is my wish."

  Their eyes locked. Robin took a step toward Lucia; toward the trust, strength, and tranquility she radiated. "très bien!" he sighed as he took a pistol from his pocket and laid it on a table. He added his dress sword and a sheathed dagger removed from a hidden pocket in his coat lining. "Satisfied?"

  "You have forgotten your boot knife, Robin." She blushed at the memory the mention of it evoked.

  "So I have." He laughed as he bent down to pull a wicked looking blade from his right riding boot. Tossing it on the table, he said, "I am now completely unarmed, ma chérie, save for my bare hands."

  Lucia smiled. "Keep your hands in your pockets and my fears will be laid to rest."

  Robin grinned, bowed, and was gone.

  "What a lot of weapons!" Lady Corinna remarked in an awed tone. "Does he always go armed to the teeth?"

  Lucia shrugged. "My Papa never ventured out with less than three loaded firearms secreted about his person," she said. "Robin's years of hardship have left him suspicious of his fellow man and he keenly feels the need to protect himself. I only hope he and his cousin don't come to blows in the library."

  As Corinna watched Lucia's hands clasping and unclasping, her eyes narrowed. "A second tale is circulating that you and Amberley eloped; that your marriage is a love match. Which rumor is the truth? Don't try to protect that wretched man. Just tell me what happened." Silent, Lucia stared down at her twining fingers. "Well?" the older lady urged. "I only want to help you, child. I will not force you to do anything against your will, but I need to know everything if I am to befriend you."

  "Very well," Lucia said at last. She gave Lady Easterbury an abbreviated account of her wedding and her six weeks of marriage, her calm detachment contrasting sharply with the wildness of the tale she unfolded.