Alyssa Everett

by A TrystWith Trouble

  While Teddy thanked her, I studied her expression. Did she expect anyone to believe that coy look? Barbara didn’t have a coy bone in her body. If she thought she could provoke an angry reaction from me by mentioning the inquest, she was fair and far off.

  To show her how unconcerned I was, I said, “Naturally, I’m also pleased my cousin was exonerated—though I’ll be happier still once we’ve dispensed with this marriage business.”

  “Oh-ho! You do come to the point, my lord,” Lord Leonard said. “But you really shouldn’t take the outcome for granted.”

  I supposed I couldn’t blame him for holding out some hope Teddy might be talked out of his resolve. After all, we’d come here once before on the same errand, and Lady Helen had managed to wheedle her way back into Teddy’s good graces. I wondered where Barbara stood on the matter of her sister’s engagement. To my added irritation, she wasn’t even making a pretense of looking at anyone now, but sat with demurely downcast eyes. What good was showing I didn’t care a rap about her scheming if she couldn’t even be troubled to notice?

  “It’s best we settle the matter today,” Teddy ventured from his place near the window, twisting his hat nervously round and round in his hands. “Ben doesn’t much care for the idea, you see, and it was all I could do to persuade him to come.”

  Barbara looked up, her slender brows drawing together sharply.

  Lord Leonard likewise frowned. “Really, Cliburne, you might have kept that to yourself.”

  As much as Lord Leonard must dislike the idea of Teddy’s calling off the wedding, I saw no point in dragging out the proceedings. “Cliburne is quite right,” I said. “I had misgivings about coming today, and I’m still not convinced it’s the wisest course, but after Lady Helen’s testimony at the inquest...” Realizing Barbara was staring goggle-eyed at me, I broke off. “Is something the matter, Lady Barbara?”

  “Misgivings?” she echoed faintly.

  I hadn’t expected her to thank me for trying to talk Teddy out of jilting her sister, but neither had I expected her to scoff openly at my good intentions. “Really, mightn’t you be more comfortable somewhere else? My cousin and I would prefer to speak to your father in private.”

  Barbara’s mouth fell open.

  “No, no!” Lord Leonard waved his hands in the air. “You’re going about this all wrong, Lord Beningbrough. You stay here and speak with my daughter. I’ll step into my study with Lord Cliburne so—”

  Barbara had risen to her feet, two spots of color standing out on her cheeks. The heat of her glare fairly burned a hole through me. “If you’re not the rudest, most arrogant creature I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet!”

  “Barbara!” her father barked.

  I had come to my feet when Barbara rose, and now I stood glaring back at her. So she’d given up on playing coy and had decided to show her true colors. She was flushed with indignation, her eyes flashing, her bosom heaving. Despite the way she’d betrayed me, I couldn’t help thinking she looked like a goddess.

  Teddy glanced from Barbara to me. “P’raps we ought to go to your study after all, Lord Leonard.”

  Trust Teddy to turn craven as soon as matters grew heated. Unfortunately, Lord Leonard proved equally loath to stay. “Yes, yes, better to step out for a few minutes and leave these two to deal together.” He sprinted with Teddy to the door. As a parting shot, he called over his shoulder, “Mind your tongue, Barbara.”

  “Ha!” she jeered as the door closed behind them.

  Barbara

  Papa should have saved his breath. How could I mind my tongue when Ben was so maddeningly, undeservedly puffed up?

  “I’d begun to think you weren’t really as bad as everyone said,” I flung at him the instant we were alone. “But now...!”

  “And I’d begun to think I could trust you.” Ben’s handsome face was as cold as marble. “Well, you certainly proved me wrong.”

  “What do you mean? You’re the one who can’t be trusted, leaving me to face my father’s disapproval alone after we were caught together, then coming here now to insult me!”

  “You flatter yourself, if you think my coming here today had anything to do with you.”

  I swallowed down that insult to deal out one of my own. “On the contrary, I realize I’m simply your last resort now that the papers have painted you a man-milliner. I saw the digs at you in the Times this morning.”

  His eyes had narrowed in confusion at the words last resort, but by the time I finished speaking, his angry scowl had returned. “No doubt you enjoyed a good laugh at my expense.”

  “As a matter of fact, I was actually stupid enough to feel sorry for you. What a waste of my sympathy! Honestly, do you truly believe I would accept any man as arrogant as you?”

  “Accept me? What are you talking about?” Ben’s forehead creased. “Wait, do you mean—marriage?”

  He looked so flummoxed, I had the sudden paralyzing realization I’d just announced myself a fool, and in the most presumptuous and therefore most humiliating way possible. I wanted to snap, No, of course not, but between the mortification pinning me to the spot and the blush rising to scald my cheeks, I couldn’t get the denial out.

  Oh, God. I had been flattering myself. Ben didn’t intend to propose. He never had.

  I wished the earth would open up and swallow me whole, or a bolt of lightning would strike me down, or—oh, any disaster would be preferable to this one, provided it were final enough that I would never have to face Ben again. It must be plain to him that I’d been hoping for a declaration, and he had no intention of making one. In his eyes, I must be not only firmly nailed to the shelf, but the kind of pathetic, delusional old maid who lacked the sense to recognize my own ineligibility.

  “Marriage!” he exclaimed, while I cringed inwardly. “Why would I offer up my head on the chopping block that way? I thought it was snub enough when you refused to come to the inquest, but those things you had your sister say—”

  I’d been wracking my brain, trying to think of some way out of the humiliating corner I’d backed myself into, but the unjustness of Ben’s accusation broke through my distress. “I had her say?” I interrupted in a shaking voice. “What makes you think I had anything to do with Helen’s testimony? I have no control over my sister. I didn’t even learn about her testimony until late last night. As for the inquest, I spent all of yesterday locked in my bedroom, being punished for consorting with you—not that you bothered to inquire.”

  And why should he have asked about me? He’d probably never given me a second thought. I might really have been killed in my sleep, and it wouldn’t have made a jot of difference to him. Ben had even gone back to his old mode of dressing, decking himself out like a stable hand to show me I wasn’t worth greater effort.

  He looked momentarily nonplussed before his expression turned scornful. “Pardon me if I didn’t stop to ask how you’d been passing your time. I was somewhat preoccupied, what with the newspapers blackening my character.”

  “They’ve blackened mine too, and at least they didn’t draw you with half your clothes falling off.”

  He’d been about to make some angry retort, but this brought him up short. “Er, what?”

  I stalked to my sewing basket, pulled out the folded sheet of newsprint I’d saved, and with two swift steps thrust it at him. “I mean this, you dolt!”

  With a doubtful look, Ben took the paper from my hand and unfolded it, revealing the cartoon and verse from the Courier. As he examined the caricatures, I watched his face. In the space of seconds, it went from angry superiority to tense absorption to sick disbelief. I knew when he’d come to the end of the verse, because he swore under his breath and sank down on the sofa with a stunned look.

  It served him right, the conceited oaf. Let all of London know what a heartless, self-centered ass he was. He had been gulling me, kissing me in my bedroom when he had no serious interest in me whatsoever, and the artist who’d drawn that caricature had seen it far better
than I. It would serve Ben right if I had the verse printed on handbills and posted on every street corner in London just to humiliate him further. I would gladly lose my reputation if it meant serving him up a taste of his own medicine.

  But when he slumped forward and dropped his head into his hands, a little of my righteous anger evaporated. As hurt and insulted as I was, I couldn’t help but feel a small stir of sympathy for him. Ordinarily he strutted about with more mettle than any other man alive, but for once he looked positively flattened.

  “You mean you didn’t know about this?”

  He looked up with an ashen face. “No, I hadn’t seen it. Was it in today’s paper?”

  “Yesterday’s. The Courier. I’ve written the editor to ask the name of the artist, but I’m still awaiting his reply.”

  “It’s...disgusting. And to think I’ve caused you to be subjected to this kind of insult...” Unable to finish, he simply shook his head.

  At least he’d noticed he wasn’t the only one in the drawing. “Fortunately, my father hasn’t seen it yet, though I worry it’s only a matter of time. I can’t think what he’ll do if he learns about it.”

  Ben laughed bitterly. “I dare say I ought to be worried about how my father will react, but something tells me it will simply become one more of those gross embarrassments everyone in my family knows about but nobody ever mentions.”

  He sounded utterly demoralized, as if the caricature had accomplished what a gunshot and a blow to the head couldn’t. Yes, it was becoming hard not to feel sorry for him, which was strange because I’d suffered a good deal more insult and embarrassment in the past hour than he had. By rights, I should have remained furious.

  But apparently I was more tender-hearted than I’d supposed, for sympathy was crowding out the worst of my anger. The caricature was such a blatant insult, far more brazen than the slurs in the pieces about the inquest. Given the way Ben had reacted two nights before when I’d mentioned the rumors about his father, I knew how sensitive he could be when it came to matters of reputation.

  I took a seat beside him on the sofa. “At least you can see now why I supposed you’d come to offer for me. You can imagine what this will do to my good name, not to mention that your cousin’s note said you wished to discuss marriage.”

  “He wished to discuss marriage,” Ben said dully. “His own, that is, to your sister. He’s been having second thoughts.”

  “He might have said as much in his note!”

  Ben shrugged. “I doubt it occurred to him anyone here would mistake his meaning.”

  Of course not. How stupid of me to have let my father talk me into believing Ben intended to propose. When Ben told Cliburne about my mistake, they would probably both have a long, uproarious laugh at my expense. I deserved it too, overreaching so idiotically.

  “Barbara ...” Ben spoke with unaccustomed hesitancy. “About before—I’m sorry your father locked you in your room. I had no inkling you were being punished. When I came here today, it never occurred to me you might think—”

  Oh, God. He was going to apologize for not offering to marry me. Anything but that. Ben’s indifference was bad enough, but I couldn’t bear his pity. “No need to refine on it.” I cut him off with a false, brittle smile. “It was only a silly misunderstanding.”

  “Are you sure? Because I would—”

  “Of course I’m sure! The whole thing was my father’s idea. Helen and Mama will be so amused tonight at dinner when I tell them about the confusion.” Feeling sick inside, I hastily directed Ben’s attention back to the caricature. “About this—have you any idea who might have drawn it?”

  Ben had been about to say something more, but with a sigh he abandoned his speech and looked down at the paper. “None at all.” He shook his head. “Whoever it is knows quite a bit about me, and he’s obviously carrying a grudge, but none of my acquaintances has this kind of artistic talent. He’s done a fine job capturing you.”

  “A fine job!” I sat back, aghast. “How can you say such a thing? He’s exaggerated all my worst features—my hair, my lips, the proportions of my...my figure.”

  Ben raised one eyebrow. “I would hardly call those your worst features.”

  “I look like a whore!”

  “You look...enticing,” Ben said after a moment’s thought. “That’s hardly a bad thing. A good many women would give their eyeteeth to look that way.”

  “You mean whores,” I said, though I couldn’t help feeling my indignation ease a little at the approving note in his voice. “And the verse calls me an Amazon! Surely you can see how insulting that is.”

  “I think it’s rather apt, actually. The Amazons were supposed to be fearless warriors.”

  “And bloodthirsty man-haters.” I frowned at the cartoon. “Whoever drew this is definitely carrying a grudge, but it’s not against you. This isn’t the first time a caricature of me has appeared in the papers, and I’ll wager my last penny this one is by the same hand. The odd thing is, it never occurred to me until I saw this in the paper last night that I might have an actual enemy.”

  “I’m sure I have enemies. It comes from refusing to take insults lying down. And I still maintain that whoever drew this bears more of a grudge against me than he does against you. He’s modeled his drawing on the story of Hercules and Hippolyte.”

  “And what does that signify?” I glanced at Ben. It was a tactical error, looking at that striking profile from such close range. I couldn’t help remembering how bittersweet it had been having his head in my lap after he’d been knocked unconscious, when I’d been momentarily free to look my fill at his face. I’d been a pathetic fool, letting myself develop feelings for him, thinking such a man could be interested in me.

  He pointed to the costume my likeness wore in the caricature. “King Eurystheus set Hercules the task of obtaining the girdle of Hippolyte, queen of the Amazons. Hippolyte gave it to Hercules willingly, and even became his lover. But when the rest of the Amazons attacked his men, Hercules slew Hippolyte in a rage. See the sword I’m hiding behind my back? The implication is that I might offer honeyed words, but I mean to betray you in the end—which isn’t true, of course.”

  “I should say not.” I arched an eyebrow at him. “Your words have never been the least bit honeyed.”

  A flicker of a smile curved his lips but quickly disappeared as he ran his eyes down the caricaturist’s verse. “He’s also accused me of being foul-tempered, prettified, unprincipled...”

  I bent over the lines with him and experienced the same strange intuition I’d had on the day he was shot—the sense that he was the chosen target and I’d merely been caught in the crossfire. Now where had that come from? “Looking at it more objectively, you do seem to have got the worst of the insults. He’s even called your father a bastard.”

  Ben looked up with a jerk. “You think this word left blank means bastard?”

  “Well, yes, that or blackguard. It starts with a b, doesn’t it? And it has to be two syllables to make the meter work. What other word would suit for a man?”

  Ben frowned grimly. “Never mind.”

  “At least it doesn’t say you’re a bastard.”

  “I could almost wish it did. It would be less insulting than accusing me of getting my nature from my father.”

  I’d only seen Ben sneer that way once before, when I’d thoughtlessly implied his father would be unlikely to peep at a woman. “I don’t think it’s accusing you of having unnatural appetites, if that’s what has you worried. It’s only implying you’re disreputable in a general way. Do you see? ‘Scruples, alas, are to him just a bother, for his nature,’ et cetera.”

  Ben looked up from the paper, a gleam of hope in his eyes. “Do you really think so?”

  “You’re making up to me in the drawing, aren’t you? Whoever drew this could have chosen some other allusion—Shakespeare’s Rosalind or Joan of Arc or some such—and drawn me disguised as a boy, but even in the caricature, I’m still female.”
<
br />   “That’s true.” The familiar note of confidence crept back into Ben’s voice. “And you’re female in real life too.”

  “Thank you for noticing. At any rate, I think you’re being overly sensitive, assuming the mention of your father was anything more than a throwaway insult. It seems to me the caricature is simply saying you might be good-looking, but you have dishonorable intentions.”

  Ben sat up taller. “You think I’m good-looking?”

  I wanted to kick myself. I’d already given him far too many reasons to congratulate himself, most of them at my expense. “I didn’t say that. I said that’s what the artist wants readers to think.”

  Ben frowned slightly and looked back down at the paper. “There’s something oddly familiar about this caricature.”

  “Yes, I know. I told you, it’s by the same loathsome snake who drew that earlier one of me and Cliburne.”

  Ben shook his head. “It has to be something more than that. I never saw that first drawing.” He rubbed his jaw in thought.

  “Perhaps it’s just the mythology you’re—”

  He snapped his fingers. “I have it! It’s the lettering. The words are in the same hand as your sister’s blackmail notes!”

  “What?” I snatched up the caricature to examine it more closely. “It can’t be.”

  “Have a look. You pointed out yourself that the blackmailer rounds the backs of letters that ought to be straight, like E, D, and R.”

  He was right. The title lettered above the drawing, The Amazon Duped, had the same distinctive curves. I gaped at Ben in astonishment. “So whoever has been blackmailing Helen is also drawing these caricatures?”

  “It would seem so, and he’s likely the same man who killed Sam Garvey and who watched you through the peephole too.”

  “My God.” I shuddered. How horrible to think my life was so intricately entangled with a killer’s. “If that’s the case, it has to narrow down the possible suspects. Whoever drew this must have seen me talking to you outside my window.”