A MERRY CHASE

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  "Upstairs," the maid gasped, "upstairs your clothes are … are … ruined."

  "Ruined?" Laurel asked.

  "Completely ruined."

  Closing her book, Laurel rose to her feet. "Why don't we go upstairs so you can show me what you mean."

  The maid trailed along behind Laurel as she mounted the stairs. "I went to your chamber to prepare your clothes for the evening—just like I always do—when I stumbled upon the mess."

  The explanation hastened Laurel's step. Hopefully, the maid was exaggerating.

  "Dear Lord!" Laurel exclaimed as she entered her room.

  "I told you," mumbled the maid from behind her.

  But Laurel paid her no heed, for she was too stunned to speak. Dresses, shoes, shawls, undergarments, were all strewn about her room, each one torn or soiled. Not a stitch of clothing remained in her armoire. Reaching out a shaking hand, Laurel fingered the destroyed silk from one of her favorite gowns. "How did this happen?" she whispered, the hoarseness in her voice betraying the depth of her shock.

  "I don't know, milady," cried the maid as she stood wringing her hands.

  Laurel shook her head as she tried to gather her thoughts. "I'll round up the servants and find out if anyone knows what happened here today."

  "What shall I do with the gowns?"

  Closing her eyes briefly, Laurel took a deep breath and opened them again, steeling herself. "Since they're beyond repair, I suppose they're best suited for rags now."

  Still shaken by the destruction of her wardrobe, Laurel headed downstairs to find her father. Knocking on his study door, she waited for a moment before entering. "Good evening, Father," she said, moving to press a kiss upon his cheek.

  "This is a pleasant surprise," murmured Lord Simmons, setting down his quill. "It's not often that—" He broke off his words as soon as he glanced up at her. "You're looking a bit peaked. Are you feeling poorly?"

  Laurel offered her father a tremulous smile. "I was feeling fine until a few minutes ago."

  Lord Simmons frowned. "What's happened?"

  "Someone went into my room and destroyed all my clothes."

  "What?" bellowed Lord Simmons, thrusting to his feet.

  Somehow her father's anger calmed her shaky nerves. "Nothing appears to have been taken, but all my garments were utterly ruined."

  "Have the servants been questioned?" Lord Simmons asked as he rounded his desk.

  Laurel shook her head. "I was going to do that after I spoke to you."

  "Then what are we waiting for," said Lord Simmons as he stormed from the room. Pausing at the door, he glanced back: "Are you coming?"

  "Yes." As always, they would do it together.

  * * *

  "I can't believe that no one saw anything," Lord Simmons grumbled as he walked back into his study.

  "It surprises me as well," conceded Laurel as she sank into a chair. "I just don't understand why anyone would come into our home simply to destroy my things."

  Her father paled. "Sweet Lord, Royce was right."

  "What do you mean he was right? About what?"

  Sitting down, her father appeared deeply shaken. "He was convinced that you were in danger."

  Laurel opened her mouth to dismiss Royce's concerns, but the image of her clothes lying in ruined heaps stopped her. "He told me that someone was trying to enter my room at Hammingtons' weekend party, but I didn't believe him," she murmured as she lifted her gaze to her father. "I wonder now if he was indeed telling the truth."

  "He undoubtedly was," Lord Simmons said. "He also believes that your accident the other day was, well, no accident. He'd speculated that perhaps someone had been hiding in the bushes, waiting to startle your horse … which explains the sound you heard before your horse bolted.

  Swallowing, Laurel struggled to accept all of what her father was telling her. "But who would want to hurt me?"

  "That's what we need to discover." Rising, Lord Simmons headed toward his desk. "I'm going to send a missive to Royce and invite him to dine with us this evening. I believe we should bring him up to speed on the latest turn of events."

  Glancing down at her old and stained gown, Laurel squelched the instinctive feminine urge to preen for him. Perhaps one look at her in this attire and he would soon abandon his wager. Laurel didn't like the pang caused by that thought.

  Determined to prove herself unaffected by Royce, she nodded her head. "I believe that is a fine idea, Father. Perhaps Royce might have some insight into the situation that we're overlooking."

  There, she thought smugly, that sounded levelheaded and calm … but was completely at odds with the nerves jumping in the pit of her stomach.

  * * *

  Rubbing a hand across his bleary eyes, Royce waited for the Simmons' butler to open the door. For the better portion of the day, Royce had been tallying receipts and trying to rebuild his books from memory. Receiving the invitation to dine with the Simmonses, Royce had decided he deserved a break from all the tedious business of rebuilding his financial records.

  Following the butler into the salon. Royce sketched a bow to Lord Simmons and his daughter. "I appreciate your kind invitation."

  "It is our pleasure," Lord Simmons replied, slapping a hand upon Royce's shoulder. "May I offer you a drink?"

  Accepting, Royce looked at Laurel and was somewhat surprised by her appearance. She'd never looked less than perfectly put together. Yet this evening, she looked, well, like she'd been cleaning all day. However, even rumpled and dusty, Laurel was a sight for sore eyes.

  And he should know, Royce thought with a smile.

  Blinking to ease the ache in his reddened eyes, Royce took the drink from Laurel's father, then sat in one of the chairs.

  "Are you feeling all right?" Laurel asked, peering at him closely.

  "Yes, I'm fine," he said. "With the exception of a pounding headache and bleary eyes."

  "What's wrong? Are you ill?"

  Just thinking on the events that had occurred earlier today infuriated him. "No, nothing as simple as that. Someone broke into my home today and destroyed all of my financial papers."

  Laurel's eyes widened. "Really? Someone broke into our house and destroyed all of my clothes," she said. "Well, all but this old thing," she added, lifting the edge of her skirt.

  "Having both of our houses broken into on the same day is not a coincidence," Royce murmured, thinking out loud. "But why would someone want to harm us?"

  Shaking her head, Laurel answered, "I have no idea."

  "If we put all the incidents together—"

  "Incidents?"

  "A strange man who seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth tries to enter your room," he said, holding up one finger. "Then your horse is startled and you are almost seriously injured." He held up a second finger. "Lastly, your clothes are destroyed." Holding up three fingers, Royce drove the point home. "It is obvious, my dear Laurel, that someone is out to harm you."

  Laurel paled, visibly shaken.

  "I agree," Lord Simmons murmured. The silence in the room seemed deafening. Finally, Laurel's father asked, "What did you mean that the stranger had disappeared off the face of the earth?"

  "I set a Bow Street Runner on the case, but he was unable to give me even one possible suspect," Royce explained. "Yet, the man happened upon Laurel's room in nothing but his nightclothes, leading me to believe he was a guest of Lord Hammington's."

  "A guest or a servant," Laurel added quietly.

  Her observation caught his attention. "A servant," he murmured. "I never considered that possibility. I shall have to send around a note to the Runner in the morning and have him expand his search to include the staff."

  "Along with any personal servants of the guests," Laurel concluded.

  Admiration filled Royce. "I've never appreciated your intelligence quite so much."

  Widening her eyes, Laurel let loose a laugh. "Oh, so you thought me a dullard?"

  "Of course not," he quickly corrected, "but
such a keen sense of cunning—"

  "—befitting of a fox," she returned.

  "Indeed," he agreed, not missing a beat. "You possess a fox's keen sense of cunning."

  "Which is precisely why your plan to entrap me failed so miserably," Laurel pointed out. "Only the most clever hunter can possibly hope to outwit a fox."

  For the first time, his wager lay between them as a joke, rather than a source of conflict. "Ah, but that's just the point, Laurel." Leaning forward, Royce met her gaze. "I happen to be the best hunter amongst the ton."

  She leaned forward as well. "If you are the finest example of a hunter, then I pity the rest of the gentlemen for their horrible lack of skill."

  Lord Simmons' roar of laughter caught Royce off guard. He'd been so intent upon Laurel that he'd forgotten they weren't alone. "Ah, the two of you will provide me with spirited grandbabies," Lord Simmons said brightly.

  "Father!" gasped Laurel.

  Royce only grinned. "I shall do my best, sir."

  "While I'm enjoying your courting, I'm afraid we really should focus upon the matter at hand."

  "The threat," Royce replied to Lord Simmons. "You're quite right, it's most intriguing that whoever is behind the threat to Laurel has also turned their attention to me."

  "The fact that your study was destroyed soon after society connected you with my daughter should not be dismissed," Lord Simmons said, rubbing his chin. "Though the main target still appears to be Laurel."

  "And my connection to Laurel is the only reason my study was ransacked."

  "That does make sense," Laurel agreed. "But who would want to harm me?"

  Shaking his head, Lord Simmons murmured, "I don't know, but we need to uncover the culprit before the attacks escalate."

  "I agree. At this point it would be best if we began to work together." Royce nodded to Lord Simmons. "Any information I uncover, I will share with you."

  "Likewise," Lord Simmons replied.

  "And what would you like me to do … other than act as bait?" Laurel asked a bit too sweetly.

  "That will be quite enough, Laurel," Royce returned.

  Pressing a hand to her chest, Laurel sighed deeply. "Ah, so wonderful to feel useful."

  He couldn't hold back his laughter. "Isn't it?"

  * * *

  Climbing into his carriage, Royce leaned his head back against the cushion and mulled over the evening. Despite the confirmation that someone was indeed out to harm Laurel, he'd had a wonderful evening. Laurel's wit and practical suggestions in the face of such adversity were remarkable. Still, he couldn't allow his romantic interest in her to distract him from uncovering who was behind the threats.

  After all, Laurel might be in real danger.

  The thought made his stomach clench and he vowed to increase his efforts. First, he would look toward Margaret St. John. He wouldn't put much past that spoiled snippet. Besides, it would suit her needs to force him to spend time apart from Laurel. Destroying his personal ledgers would certainly occupy the bulk of his time, just as it would take Laurel a good many days to replace her wardrobe.

  Yet, try as he did, Royce found it difficult to imagine her behind Laurel's riding accident. It seemed too vindictive, even for someone as shallow as Margaret. Regardless. Royce decided to begin his investigation first thing in the morning.

  * * *

  Standing on the edge of the dance floor in the Hammingtons' town house, Laurel kept her gaze upon Archie. After giving the matter much thought while being fitted for gown after gown, her ex-fiancé was the only person she could put on her list of suspects. He'd come back from Europe expecting to apologize and have her fall at his feet. Only she'd disappointed him by refusing to see him, much less marry him. Naturally, if he perceived Royce as a rival for her hand, Archie would be tempted to vent his frustrations upon Royce as well. Still, she doubted if he'd try to physically harm her by startling her horse.

  Suddenly, Laurel saw Archie approach from the opposite side of the room. Bracing herself, Laurel shifted her expression to one of bland disinterest.

  "Good evening," Archie murmured as he bowed before her.

  "Archie," she returned shortly, unable to bring herself to wish him a good evening. Lifting onto her tiptoes, Laurel searched for her father who had just gone to fetch a cup of punch.

  Giving her a fawning smile, Archie slid his hand beneath her elbow. "I was wondering if you might give me a moment of your time."

  Yet instead of allowing her to respond, he simply drew her toward a darkened corridor. Not wanting to cause yet another scene, Laurel allowed herself to be dragged along, certain her father would search her out.

  "Ah, this is perfect," Archie pronounced as he pulled her into the deserted morning room.

  Yanking her arm free, Laurel marched into the room, then spun around to face him. "Perfect for what, Archie?"

  "I've been waiting for the opportunity to have a word with you in private."

  The purring quality to Archie's voice grated upon her ears. Deciding not to give Archie the upper hand, she went on the offensive. "Did you send someone to destroy my things last night?"

  "What?"

  His response disappointed Laurel for it was too genuine for even a liar like Archie to manufacture. Boldly, Laurel moved toward the door.

  "Hold up a moment," he said, grabbing hold of her arm. "We haven't had a chance to speak to each other yet."

  "I've found out everything I wanted to know."

  "Well, I haven't," he said, his expression hardening. "I need to speak with you."

  Laurel suppressed the shiver of fear that shot down her spine. It was only Archie; he wouldn't harm her. "Very well," she said finally, unwilling to let him see he'd frightened her. "What did you wish to say to me?"

  "That I missed you," he murmured.

  Laurel snorted at his statement. "Perhaps you missed my money or my naiveté, but me?" Shaking her head, Laurel met his gaze head-on. "You never even knew me."

  Anger shimmered in his eyes. "That's not true," he said roughly, before softening his tone. "Memories of your kiss keep me awake at night."

  Alarm raced through her as Archie pulled her against him. Struggling to break free, Laurel pressed her hands on his chest. "Release me this instant," she demanded, annoyed to hear the quiver of fear in her voice.

  "Not before I remind you of what we once had," he said, lowering his head.

  Fighting against him, Laurel opened her mouth to scream, but the sound was swallowed by Archie as he ground his lips against hers.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^ »

  Something was wrong. He felt it in his bones.

  Looking around the crowded room, Royce tried to find a cause for his unease.

  "Good evening, my lord."

  Suppressing a groan, Royce turned to face Margaret St. John. Here was the source of his discomfort. "Lady Margaret," he said warily, remembering their less than amicable parting and his suspicions.

  She beamed up at him, tilting her head at a pretty angle. "The dancers look quite entertained."

  Her less than subtle hint didn't escape him, but he wasn't about to indulge her. "Indeed they do."

  The intensity of her smile dimmed a bit. "I vow my feet are itching to dance," she said with a forced brightness.

  Her charming manner set off alarms within him. Where was the Lady Margaret that practically spat at him when she'd last seen him? It was as if she were trying to distract him…

  Immediately, Royce scanned the room, searching for Laurel. Just a few moments ago, she'd been standing with her father near the punch bowl, but now she was nowhere to be found.

  "Looking for someone?"

  The snide tone in Lady Margaret's question caught his attention. Twisting around to face her, Royce demanded, "Where is she?"

  Margaret's pleasant expression stayed firmly in place, but her eyes were frozen chips of blue ice. "Where is who?"

  Suddenly, somehow, he knew Laurel was in danger aga
in … most likely at the hands of this vicious creature before him. Turning from her in disgust, Royce strode across the room.

  "Excuse me, Lady Pennson," he said, addressing a matron he'd last seen standing next to Laurel. "I was wondering if you knew where Lady Laurel had gotten off to."

  Lady Pennson's gaze shifted away. "I believe I saw her step away with a gentleman."

  His nerves quivered in alarm. "Do you know which gentleman, by chance?" At her hesitation, Royce hastened to reassure her. "Lord Simmons asked me to keep an eye on his daughter and I fear I've been most neglectful in my duties." Smiling pleasantly, he forced himself to be patient when all he wanted to do was shake the answer out of her.

  "Lord Simmons is over at the punch bowl," she said, gesturing with her fan. "Why don't you ask him?"

  "Because if he was fetching punch for his daughter, it would be highly unlikely that he observed who she went off with, wouldn't it?" Royce asked as politely as he could manage through his gritted teeth.

  Pressing her lips together, Lady Pennson looked highly displeased with his questions. After a moment, she finally nodded once. Leaning closer, Lady Pennson looked both ways before whispering, "I saw her go down that corridor with Lord Devens." She shook her head, a disapproving set to her mouth. "It is most unwise of Laurel to spend time in that man's company. I fear it will only bring her sadness again."

  "Don't concern yourself," Royce said as he began to move away. "I shall never allow that to happen."

  * * *

  Fighting Archie off, Laurel reached up to yank at his hair, at his ears, at anything she could, trying to dislodge his mouth from hers. But nothing she did seemed to affect him.

  Keeping one arm firmly latched around her, Archie roamed her body with his free hand, palming her breast, caressing her buttocks, squeezing her hip. Humiliation mingled with anger as she tried to devise a way to break free.

  Suddenly, her wish was granted.

  Laurel grabbed hold of a chair to keep from falling to the ground as she was pushed aside. Dragging air into her lungs, Laurel saw Royce standing over Archie like an avenging god taking out his wrath upon a lesser soul.

  She'd never seen a more beautiful sight in her life. Dark fury colored Royce's features. "Are you all right?" he rasped in a low voice.