A Wild Justice

by Gail Ranstrom

  “Traffic is at a standstill. We can go nowhere,” he said when she was settled against the rich leather cushions. He took a seat beside her. “The drivers will have the wreckage cleared in no time, and I want you safely out of the street before someone tries to run you down again.”

  “Run me down? You make it sound deliberate.”

  “It certainly looked that way to me, Lady Annica. Do you have enemies who would like to see you dead?”

  “No!” Just the same, she had a quick flash of misgiving. Richard Farmingdale might wish her harm—but he had left the country. “My opinions and activities make me unpopular in some circles, but I can think of no one who would want me dead. And how could anyone know that I would be stuck in an intersection?”

  Tristan nodded, a grim look settling across his features.

  She set the problem aside. She could not think while he was studying her so intently. He would be bound to suspect the direction of her thoughts. She pushed the hair out of her eyes. “I…I must look a fright.”

  “You have never looked lovelier, Lady Annica.” He took her hand and gazed down at it in consternation. “You are trembling again. You are injured. I shall summon a coach from the next street to take you to a physician.”

  “No! No, ’tis just that I am overset by events…. I cannot help thinking of what might have happened. You see, my mother…” Tristan’s coach lurched and started forward, covering her awkward pause.

  “How insensitive of me,” he muttered.

  “Please do not trouble yourself, Auberville. It was a very long time ago.” She felt the old panic returning and hastened to change the subject. “Can we talk of something else, please?”

  He shrugged. “If you wish.”

  “Where did you come from just now, Auberville?” she asked. “Can it be mere coincidence that placed you here?”

  “I was following you, Lady Annica.”

  “You were? Why?”

  “I went to St. Anne’s Orphanage to make payment for your illustrations, as you requested. The sisters told me Thursday is your usual day, and that you had just departed. I wanted to give you the receipt and inquire if you might be able to accompany me to another specimen on the morrow. We had all but caught up with you when traffic stopped and I saw the coach bear down on you.”

  She sighed. “It would appear I owe you my life. Lord, how I loathe that.”

  The corners of Tristan’s mouth twitched, as if he were fighting a smile. “I swear I shall not ask anything in return for your soul, if that is what has you worried, Lady Annica.”

  “I was not worried on my account, but yours. It is a great burden to carry—the responsibility for another’s life. Just ask Hodgeson. I know there must be days when he wishes he hadn’t saved mine.”

  “Ah, yes. I had forgotten how that went. Let me see if I can remember.” He assumed a thoughtful air. “I will give you advice, and you will feel as if you must take it. I shall have to accept responsibility for all your actions, and if you come to no good, I will conclude that I should have left you on that carriage. Indeed, you shall have to name your first-born ‘Auberville’—even if it is a girl—and send extravagant gifts on the birth of each of mine. I shall have to be named godfather to your children, as well. Soon you will be unable to make a single move without my assistance.”

  Annica laughed. “You may set your mind at ease regarding my naming a girl child ‘Auberville.’”

  “I am encouraged to hear that you will have a child.”

  “Mere figure of speech, Auberville. Simple supposition.”

  “Ah, I begin to see! It is because I am a man that you do not want to owe me your life, is it not?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you are a notorious man-hater. I can see how it would rankle you to owe your life to one.”

  “That is the second absurd statement you have made today.” Annica frowned. “I do not hate men at all. Why do you say so?”

  “You refuse to entertain them. You have never consented for one to call upon you. You have dismissed all offers for your hand as beyond consideration.”

  “Au contraire. I am overweeningly fond of Uncle Thomas, Gilbert and Hodgeson,” she said in her defense. “And, since I do not intend to marry, entertaining suitors, allowing young men to call and considering offers would be a complete waste of time, not to mention an unkindness to the gentlemen involved. I would not wish to give hope where there is none, Auberville.”

  “Then you do like men?” he asked, arching one eyebrow as if in disbelief.

  “Yes. I like them very much. In their place. ’Tis what they eventually become that I do not like.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Husbands.”

  He laughed. Loud and long. “I suppose you excuse that particular shortcoming so long as the man is someone else’s husband,” he finally managed to murmur.

  “Precisely.” She smiled.

  “I shall have to remember that.” He leaned close to her, reclaimed her hand and lowered his voice, forcing her to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. “Will I have to marry before I can move past your defenses?”

  “If…if you do marry, Auberville,” she whispered, surprised by her own words, “’twill be too late.”

  “And there is my dilemma, Lady Annica. What would you suggest I do?”

  The coach slowed and stopped outside her door. She could not have moved had lightning struck. Still holding her hand, Tristan leaned ever closer, lowering his mouth toward hers.

  She could hear his driver hop down from the box and come around the side of the coach. Briefly, she wished him a broken leg. A moment! she prayed. Just one more moment!

  She wanted to taste Tristan’s mouth, to feel for herself if his lips were as soft as they looked—as delicious—and to know if the hollow, hard thumping in her chest would cause it to explode with excitement.

  “’Ere we are, yer lordship,” the driver announced as he threw the coach door open. “All safe an’ sound.”

  Mr. Bouldin looked over his shoulder with a nervous glance. “What’s the emergency, milady?”

  Annica watched her abigail select a length of Belgian lace from the vendor several stalls down the arcade. She had only a moment to relay the details of yesterday’s “accident” before Mary returned.

  “Lordy!” the Bow Street Runner exclaimed.

  She shivered, remembering her close call, and then how she had felt with Tristan’s arms around her. “Lord Auberville snatched me from my curricle in the nick of time. But I have grown uneasy. Indeed, I have begun to wonder if someone made an attempt upon my life.”

  “We’ve always been careful that no one know who—”

  “Yes, of course.” Annica waved airily. She was in a rush and had no patience to repeat things they both knew. “But we went to see Farmingdale off. He knows, and he made certain threats, Mr. Bouldin. I have begun to wonder if he managed to leave word for Lady Sarah’s last assailant.”

  “There was no time to send a message, milady. You watched the ship leave yourselves.”

  Annica remembered her feeling of unease that night. Had it been Farmingdale’s cohort hiding in the shadows? “That is correct, Mr. Bouldin, but is there any way to be certain?”

  “Until we know who the fourth man is…” He shrugged.

  She had suspected as much. “Then Sarah is still in danger. I will have a word with her, Mr. Bouldin, and see to it that she goes nowhere alone and that she takes great care in all things.”

  Mr. Bouldin frowned. “You are the one in danger, milady. ’Tis your carriage that was run down.”

  She shivered. “Do not worry about me, Mr. Bouldin. I can take care of myself. Lady Sarah, however, is quite vulnerable.”

  He gave her a doubtful glance. “Ye mustn’t discount the danger to yerself, Lady Annica.”

  “Auberville could be wrong. Accidents happen, even to the most wary.”

  “I take yer meaning. I had a near call of me own
yesterday. Man in my business has to have eyes in the back of his head.”

  Annica felt a prickle of misgiving. “Do you think it may have had something to do with our investigations or with one of your other clients?”

  “Who can say, milady?” The Bow Street Runner gave another eloquent shrug, spreading both arms wide.

  “If you suspect someone is after you, you must cease at once. I will not have you incur injury on my account.”

  He regarded her with a veiled expression that Annica read as stubbornness, and she knew he would tell her anything, then do as he saw fit. She took a wad of banknotes from her reticule and put them in his hand.

  “I want Sarah’s last assailant found as quickly as possible—and his weakness determined. The sooner he is dealt with, the less we will have to worry about accidents.”

  “Aye, Lady Annica. I’ll bring m’ partner, Renquist, in on this one.”

  “I’d appreciate that, sir.” She glanced again toward Mary. The maid was offering a coin to the merchant with one hand and taking her purchase in the other. “Meet me at the Book Emporium day after tomorrow at half past noon. If I am able to discover anything new, I shall tell you then.”

  “Aye, milady. We’ll find the degenerate or my name ain’t Bouldin.”

  Chapter Five

  The moment had arrived.

  Chandeliers sparkled in the Grays’ ballroom as the orchestra struck a tune. Annica swallowed her nervousness, adjusted the off-the-shoulder sleeves of her violet peau de soie gown, and gave what she hoped was a regal nod. Somehow, she suspected, Auberville was not fooled.

  She placed her hand in his and felt a tingle travel up her arm, to catch in her throat as a small muffled gasp. When his arm went around her and his hand settled at her waist, she suddenly understood why the waltz was a dangerous dance. Face-to-face, so close together, the position bordered on an embrace and was scant inches from a kiss.

  A kiss! Just the thought made the heat rise in her cheeks and her heart lurch like a ship at sea. She missed a step and scuffed his shoe. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I am still a little unsteady from the coaching accident yesterday.”

  He smiled, his devastating blue eyes crinkling at the corners, but he made no comment.

  What was it about Auberville that made her so acutely conscious of herself—of being a woman? What stranger inside her reveled in that fact? And who was this Annica she had become?

  She must have waltzed several hundred times since the dance had become popular, but she’d never been aware of the heat of a hand resting on her waist, nor the contrast of gentleness and power as he led. He actually shortened the length of his stride to accommodate her. She was positive she had never noticed how intimate a whisper was until he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

  “You are so concentrated, my lady. You need not count your steps. That is my job. Follow my lead, and you will do well.”

  Follow his lead? But she always had difficulty following a man’s lead. She swallowed hard. “I have waltzed before, Auberville.”

  “I have seen you do it,” he told her with an amused smile. “Yet you seem somewhat distracted this evening. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Annica knew she should not, but she tilted her head back and looked up into the captivating eyes. You could kiss me, she thought, and was so panicked that it took her a full minute before she could speak. Seizing on the first thing that came to mind, she said, “My uncle discharged Thompson this morning, m’lord. Would you know anything about that?”

  “Who?”

  “Thompson. My driver. The one who—”

  “Ah, yes. The one who drove your coach into an intersection and then abandoned you? He is not deserving of your concern. When you were most in need, he thought only of himself.”

  “Did you have anything to do with his dismissal, Lord Auberville?” she persisted.

  He gave a curt nod. “I recommended it when I spoke to Lord Thomas yesterday. As I expected, he was appalled by Thompson’s behavior. The man betrayed your uncle’s trust. ’Tis as simple as that. Your uncle will find you a more diligent driver.”

  “I promised Thompson he would not be fired. Surely you cannot fault him for wanting to survive?”

  “His first duty was to keep you from harm’s way,” Tristan murmured, leaning close to her ear. “He saved himself at your expense, Lady Annica. That was inexcusable.”

  Her heart skipped and she glanced away, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. She wondered if he had this effect on all women, and if he flirted so outrageously with them, too.

  “I hope you will save me another dance, Lady Annica,” he told her when the dance ended and he returned her to her friends.

  “Ah, Lady Annica!” Julius grinned happily, releasing Charity’s hand. “Here you are. I believe this is my dance.”

  She allowed Julius Lingate to lead her onto the dance floor, but then the orchestra struck a reel. “I do not think I am up to this,” she said, laughing, then crossed to the opposite side of the room to avoid being swept into a set.

  “May I fetch you a cup of punch?” Julius offered.

  Annica took his arm companionably as they strolled toward a long table set with a fountain bubbling pink citrus punch. “Thank you for being so understanding, Mr. Lingate.” She smiled and cocked her head to one side. Here was an opportunity she dare not waste. It might never come again. “Actually, there is something I would like to discuss with you.”

  “I am at your service,” he said with a bow.

  “I would like to ask you a few questions about your friend, Lord Auberville.”

  “This is most unusual, Lady Annica.”

  “Because I am a woman?” she asked.

  “Er, well, yes.”

  She straightened and assumed her most businesslike manner. Her voice deepened as she mimicked her uncle Thomas, linked arms with Julius Lingate and led him toward the Grays’ library, deciding to have a little fun while setting him straight. “Now, now, my boy. A few simple questions. Nothing very complicated.”

  “I really do not think—”

  “Nonsense!” Annica cut off his protest. “There’s no problem a little brandy and a cigar cannot solve. We are civilized English, after all. Call me Nick, old boy.”

  Julius gazed at her in disbelief as she crossed to the humidor on Mr. Gray’s desk and extracted two pungent cigars. She gave them to him to trim while she went to a side table to pour brandy into two snifters. She handed one snifter to him and took a cigar, which Julius, looking at a loss, lit for her.

  She puffed until a gray-blue cloud hovered over their heads. Holding the smoking missile in one hand and sipping from the snifter in the other, Annica assumed a crafty smile. She sat down behind Mr. Gray’s desk and leaned back in his chair. “Now, lad—Auberville. How well do you know him?”

  “Since school. Eton.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, has he always been so…persistent?”

  “Indeed,” Julius said.

  Relishing her role now that she was underway, she took a healthy swig of the brandy, gathering courage. “I see. And is he given to light flirtations?”

  Julius squirmed in his chair. “There’s nothing light about Auberville. All his affairs have been long-lived and discreet.”

  “All of them?” She frowned. “How many would that be?”

  “Oh, ah, I wouldn’t…know.”

  “Could you guess? Two? Ten? Twenty?”

  “Not so many as that,” he muttered.

  “So Auberville takes his comforts where he finds them, eh?” she asked. An unfamiliar emotion tweaked her as she realized she could gladly scratch out the eyes of those nameless women.

  “But it’s been years since he had—” Julius stopped in midsentence. “That is, Auberville has not—”

  “Not what?” a deeply masculine voice asked.

  Annica turned toward the library door to find Auberville standing there. Thank heavens he had not heard the topic of their discussion. Her
masquerade with brandy and cigar seemed a little extreme when she saw him lift one eyebrow just slightly, indicating not surprise, but disapproval.

  “Did you have some business to be about, Lingate?” he asked.

  Julius cleared his throat and set his brandy snifter down on the polished surface of the desk. “I believe I do. See you later, Auberville. Lady Annica.”

  Julius shot her a nervous smile and waved one hand as he passed Tristan on his way to the door.

  “So?” Tristan said in a low voice when the door closed.

  Annica tapped her cigar out in a small dish. She tossed back the rest of her brandy in a gesture of defiance and set the snifter down with a bang. “So.”

  “Once again, I see that you have a reckless flirtation with ruination, Annica Sayles.”

  “So it would seem. Or could it be that you have a talent for catching me at my worst?” she challenged.

  “Are you ever at anything else?” he parried.

  “If that is what you think, I wonder that you bother with me, m’lord.” She felt the cut to her slowly awakening heart.

  “Were it not for our contract, I wonder if I would.”

  “I release you from your obligation. Destroy our contract.”

  “You would like that, would you not? That would allow you to flee to the countryside, counting yourself lucky at escaping another close call. Then you could avoid the issue at hand.”

  “I…I do not know what you mean,” she faltered, good in a ruse but never good in a direct lie. She knew full well what he was suggesting. He was going to call her bluff!

  He sauntered closer to the desk and smiled as he leaned across the smooth expanse, bracing himself by placing his hands flat on the surface. His head stopped mere inches from hers, and his eyes met hers directly, forbidding her the escape of looking away. “I think you do. I think you are very aware of what is happening here, Annica.”