A MERRY CHASE

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  And he was the bloody Prince Regent. Bowing, Royce excused himself. "If you will pardon me, I believe the lady of my intentions is seeking a dance partner."

  Walking away, Royce didn't have to glance behind him to know that Lady Rotham was undoubtedly spreading his confession across the room.

  Splendid.

  Just as he'd done the night they first met, Royce strode boldly across the dance floor, keeping his gaze firmly fixed upon Laurel.

  Instead of backing away, Laurel stood her ground, waiting for him with a smile playing upon her lips.

  Without a word, he clasped her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor, swinging her into his arms.

  "This is becoming a habit for you, isn't it?" she asked after a moment.

  "I found it far too delightful the first time around to give it up."

  "At least you are speaking this time." Grinning at her, Royce lifted a brow. "Only because I wish to rail at you for abandoning me, not to mention chide you for your foolishness in confronting Devens."

  "Ah," she murmured, her eyes alight with mischief, "then perhaps I'd be better served to refrain from telling you about my conversation with Margaret St. John."

  He sighed lustily. "Is there no stopping you?"

  "I've yet to meet someone who could."

  Her challenge sounded a responding chord within him. "Then I shall have to see what I can do to change that," he returned briskly.

  "As we've already discussed, my lord, I am perfectly capable of deciding what is best for me."

  "So you've said," Royce agreed, aware of the numerous eyes trained upon them. "You've made it perfectly clear that you feel I have no claim upon you."

  "So you do sometimes hear what I'm saying?" She shook her head. "Amazing."

  Her dry wit amused him. "I try my best to impress."

  "Of course you do," she returned, her tone slow and deliberate as if she were speaking to a child.

  "In fact, I've just done something which I believe you'll find most impressive," he said lightly. "After all, it's a trick you've used on me."

  In an instant, she grew wary. "Which one?"

  "There are so many…" he replied, trailing off his words just to see her irritation peak.

  "Royce!" she hissed, glancing around the room. "Stop teasing me so…" Again, she looked around her, this time taking in the scene developing around them. "Why is everyone staring at us?"

  "Undoubtedly because of something I told them."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Which was what?"

  "As I said, I took a page from your book." Smiling pleasantly at her, he continued, "I told Lady Rotham that you were the woman upon whom I'd settled my intentions."

  Closing her eyes, Laurel groaned softly. "How could you?"

  "How could I what? Add to the rumor you started?" He laughed under his breath. "I assure you, Laurel, it was exceedingly easy."

  "To force my hand?"

  "No more than you forced mine," he responded, dipping into a bow as the music ended.

  The shimmer of tears in her gaze caught him off guard. "Laurel?"

  Lifting her chin, she blinked back her tears. "You haven't bested me yet."

  Before he could utter another word, before he could discover what he'd done to upset her so, Laurel spun on her heel and left him standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.

  * * *

  "Everyone is taking wagers on when you and Royce will wed," Steven informed Laurel the moment he entered her morning room.

  Groaning, Laurel slumped in her chair. "I suspected as much."

  "The odds are favoring an imminent announcement."

  "Wonderful," observed Laurel, rubbing two fingers against her temple.

  Steven relaxed his shoulders. "So what are you going to do about the rumors?"

  Lord, she wished she knew. Rising to her feet, Laurel moved to the window, gazing out onto the lawn. Row could Royce have put her in this position? His actions only underscored the knowledge that she was simply a commodity to him … a prize in his blasted wager.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she turned to face Steven, aware that his proposal, and her rejection, sat between them. "However I decide to handle this problem, I promise you I'll not ask for your assistance."

  "I'm more than happy to help," Steven replied, rising as well.

  "I know that," Laurel murmured, "but it's unfair of me to continue to ask. It is far past time that I begin to outwit Royce on my own."

  "You have been outwitting him on your own," Steven argued, coming to stand next to her. "All the plans were your design. I was simply your accomplice."

  "True, but it was unconscionable of me to have used you for my own purposes."

  Reaching out, he tugged lightly upon one of the ribbons woven in her sleeve. "No foul was committed, because I was more than willing to assist you."

  And ended up offering her his name. Laurel smiled up at Steven before shifting away from his touch. "For that, I thank you, but I need to handle Royce on my own this time."

  An expression of resignation settled upon Steven's face. "Very well."

  "Thank you for understanding," Laurel murmured, wishing for all the world that she knew what to do about Royce's latest tactic.

  * * *

  "I want him destroyed."

  Royce could see that his bald statement shocked his man of business, Henry Atherby, but the man's reaction was of little consequence. Devens had made a huge mistake when he'd stepped into the garden with Laurel. He'd obviously not taken Royce's threat seriously, and Royce feared it was only a matter of time before Devens forced his attentions upon Laurel again.

  "I'm afraid it won't be as simple as it once was," Atherby replied, gripping his quill nervously. "After looking into Lord Devens' affairs again this morning, I discovered unanticipated changes in his financial wherewithal."

  The news stunned Royce. "Details, Atherby. I want details."

  "Unfortunately, my lord, I have none to offer. All I know is that a substantial influx of cash flooded his accounts yesterday." Before Royce had a chance to comment, Atherby raised a finger. Along with most of his debts being settled."

  Slapping a hand on his desk, Royce struggled to restrain his anger. "How did he do it?"

  "As I said, Lord Van Cleef, I'm not quite certain."

  Royce eyed the older man. "Then find out."

  "That might be difficult to—"

  "I'm not asking you if it will be difficult or not; I'm asking you to trace the money." Grimly, Royce nodded. "Money always leaves a trail."

  Gulping, Atherby nodded once. "Very well, my lord. I shall get right on the matter."

  "Excellent," Royce murmured. "As soon as we know where he got it from, we can set about taking it all away again."

  * * *

  "You succeeded most admirably last evening," Margaret commented to Archie. "By escorting Laurel outside, everyone began to speculate whether or not you were about to reconcile."

  "But then Van Cleef had to come along and spoil everything by announcing he intended to marry her," Archie complained.

  "Simply because Royce chose to spoil our plans doesn't detract from the fact that you executed your plan perfectly." Margaret absently twirled a stray curl. "Still, Royce's announcement forces us to redirect our plans."

  "What shall we do?" asked Archie. "Do you want me to continue to court Laurel? While her tongue has grown sharp over the past few years, she is still quite the looker."

  Waving her hand, Margaret dismissed the idea. "No, the time for subtlety has ended. We must now take bold action if we are to succeed in keeping them apart."

  "We have been taking 'bold action'," Archie sniveled.

  "Not bold enough." Margaret shot him a look of impatience. "You want to marry Laurel in order to obtain an heiress, isn't that correct?"

  Archie nodded briskly. "Absolutely."

  "And I wish to capture Royce's interest," Margaret said. Then she'd teach Royce a lesson for humiliating her. Yes, she'd have him grov
eling at her feet before she publicly tossed him aside.

  "Then the solution is obvious." Archie leaned forward conspiratorially. "We need help."

  * * *

  A multitude of schemes twisted in Laurel's head as she tried to devise a way to put Royce in his place. The problem was that her heart wasn't in it.

  Sighing Laurel watched the sun sink below the horizon. Her morose mood did her little good and if she spent one more minute alone with her thoughts, she would certainly go crazy.

  What she needed was a distraction. Like Harriet. Just the thought of her cheerful friend lightened Laurel's mood. Swiftly, Laurel retrieved her reticule and left a quick note for her father before heading outside. Since Harriet lived only two short blocks away, Laurel decided to walk the distance, not bothering with a chaperon.

  Slowing her pace so that she could take in the pleasantness of the evening, Laurel breathed in deeply, inhaling the fresh night air.

  Suddenly, a heavy cloak flowed around her, enveloping her within the shadowy folds. Before she could scream, a cloak-enfolded hand pressed against her mouth, silencing her protests. Though she struggled, she was no match for the strength of her abductor as he easily led her toward the street.

  Stepping up into a carriage that he'd obviously had waiting for him, her assailant dragged her into the conveyance behind him. The moment her skirts cleared the door, it was slammed shut and the carriage rocked to a start. Frantic to get free, Laurel slammed her elbow into her assailant's ribs, bringing a shout of pain from him. His arms loosened enough for Laurel to scramble out from beneath the cloak.

  Pressing against the back of the carriage, Laurel got her first look at her attacker.

  Archie.

  Anger burst within her. "You imbecile! You frightened me terribly."

  Shrugging lightly, he dismissed her protest. "It seemed necessary. After all, I highly doubt if you would have come willingly, now would you?"

  "Of course not!"

  "See?" He nodded once. "I thought as much."

  "Why you—" Breaking off her protest, Laurel struggled to control her rage. She needed a cool head to get out of this muddle. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded.

  "My, my," drawled Archie, tossing aside the cloak. "Now is that any way to talk to your future husband?"

  "My future husband?" she retorted. "Hardly."

  "We'll see," he murmured. Slanting her a look, Archie dusted off his jacket. "You were always such a submissive young miss when we were engaged. When did you become so … so … arrogant?"

  "I prefer the term independent, Archie, and I received my first lesson at your hands."

  "Ah, yes," he murmured, tugging at the sleeves of his coat. "I remember how distressed you were at the thought of losing me."

  "Don't flatter yourself," she returned coldly. "I was far more upset with how your actions would damage my reputation."

  "It's amusing that you should mention reputation," Archie began, one side of his mouth shifting upward. "For after our little jaunt, your reputation will be secure."

  His cocky attitude disturbed her. "What are you talking about?"

  Reaching out, Archie patted her on the arm. "Don't fret, Laurel. I have only honorable intentions toward you." He smiled down at her. "Now sit back and relax. I've heard the ride to Gretna Green is quite lovely at this time of year."

  His words made her catch her breath. Gretna Green. The small town over the Scottish border where one could marry without license.

  Immediately, she launched herself at the door, struggling to undo the latch, willing to risk injury rather than be dragged along on Archie's plan.

  "Locked," Archie pointed out brightly.

  Laurel tried to squelch the fear clawing at her, but failed miserably. "I shall scream," she rasped, sinking back onto her cushion.

  "Be my guest," he invited, spreading his arms wide. "In an enclosed carriage clattering its way across cobblestones, I doubt if anyone would hear you."

  He was right. Dear God in Heaven. She was trapped.

  * * *

  Chapter 22

  « ^ »

  The sun had just set when Atherby was shown into Royce's study. "Did you learn anything?" Royce asked immediately, gesturing for Atherby to take a chair.

  "Indeed, my lord," he murmured, sounding most reluctant.

  Royce urged him onward. "What is it then?"

  Shifting in his chair, Atherby seemed agitated.

  "Out with it," ordered Royce, growing more wary with each passing moment.

  "You were quite right, Lord Van Cleef. I was able to trace the money back to its source."

  "Excellent," Royce pronounced, eager to end the threat toward Laurel. "How did he come by the money?"

  "It appears that he got it from…" Atherby paused, glancing away, "…your mother."

  His heart tightened. "Impossible," he whispered. "Even for her."

  "Oh, but I assure you it's not. In fact, I checked with more than one source to verify the information." Atherby's eyes darkened with compassion. "I wish I were wrong."

  Royce didn't know how to respond. Dear Lord, his mother had given Devens money. It was all too easy for him to connect the pieces that had eluded him for so long. She'd shown up unexpectedly at the Hammingtons' weekend party, so perhaps she'd sent the note to Hammington in the hopes that Laurel would have been found in a delicate position.

  His mother could have easily orchestrated the rest of the incidents, bringing Margaret and Archie together. She could have done it all … in order to protect her precious family name.

  * * *

  Pressing as far back into the corner of the carriage as possible, Laurel searched for a way to escape. She needed to break free and return to London before anyone noticed she was gone. A night with Archie would thoroughly destroy her reputation.

  She wouldn't, couldn't, allow that to happen.

  "We've arrived at our first stop on this lovely trip of ours," Archie announced as the carriage pulled to a halt.

  As the door opened, Laurel spotted an inn with lights blazing. Seeing her only opportunity, Laurel leapt from the carriage.

  "Stop her!"

  With Archie's shout ringing in her ears, she stumbled onto the ground, slamming her hands against the hard dirt road. Ignoring the pain, Laurel struggled to regain her balance, but just as she found her footing, one of the coachmen reached out to grab hold of her arm.

  Tugging with all of her might, Laurel desperately sought to escape him. "Let me go," she pleaded, unable to hide her fear, though she knew at a glance that the Coachman wouldn't be moved by her entreaty. "Please."

  Much to her surprise, however, the servant's expression tightened in concern.

  With a spark of hope, she continued, "I only wish to return to my father. Please help me."

  Before the coachman could say a word, Archie scrambled down from the carriage and enfolded her within his cloak again. "That will be all, Headley," he said, dismissing the servant.

  "Begging your pardon, my lord, but it don't appear that—"

  Archie's body stiffened. "Since when do I pay you to express your opinion?"

  Laurel lost hope of any intervention when the coachman pulled himself up, once more becoming an expressionless servant.

  "Come along, my bride, our wedding bower awaits us." Chuckling, Archie tugged her along beside him.

  Pushing against him, Laurel still fought to break free, despite the hopelessness of the situation. "Come now, love. I understand you might be apprehensive about our wedding night, but I assure you … I'm a most spectacular lover." Leaning down, he nipped at her ear. "I promise I'll make it good for you."

  Laurel's stomach rolled. Waiting until they'd crossed the threshold, Laurel began to shout for help. "Please help me! This man is—"

  Her words were cut off as Archie spun her into his arms and slammed his mouth against hers, drowning out her protests. Breaking off the kiss, Archie pressed Laurel's head into his neck, creating a loving pose. No one would
notice that his hand covered her mouth because of the large cloak.

  Laurel tried to raise her head, but he kept her firmly against him, conveying the appearance of eager lovers seeking the nearest bed. "Lord Archibald Devens and my bride, Lady Devens," he lied smoothly to the innkeeper.

  "Pleasure to have you. Roger Everly at your service," greeted the man. "Still, it don't appear as if you'd like to spend the night jawing with me."

  Archie's smooth laugh vibrated in his chest. "You have the right of it, my good man."

  His affable tone made Laurel cringe. What sort of man could act so congenial while planning to force a wedding night on her? Laurel began to struggle again, but Archie simply pressed her tighter into his body until she felt faint from lack of air.

  "Here we are," announced the innkeeper after Archie had dragged her up the stairs.

  "Very good." Twisting to his side, he pushed her into the room. "My … wife is a bit shy and nervous about her wedding night." Laurel heard the jingling sound of coins changing hands. "That's a little something to make it worth your while if you leave us be, regardless of what you might hear."

  "I'll be as deaf as a door," promised Everly.

  Bidding the innkeeper a good evening, Archie shut the door firmly.

  Gasping for air, Laurel backed away from Archie, bumping into a table that rested against the far wall.

  "Alone at last," Archie murmured. "I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to this evening."

  "No," Laurel whispered frantically, shaking her head.

  "Shhhh, love." Shrugging out of his jacket, Archie then began to tug on his cravat. "It's only natural that you're a bit frightened, but I promise you one thing." A sensual expression twisted his lips. "You'll thank me in the morning."

  Lord help her.

  * * *

  "Why did you give Devens money?"

  Panic flashed in his mother's eyes before the expression was cloaked with confusion. "Devens? Who on earth is that?"

  She could play innocent all she liked, but Royce had seen her initial reaction. "Why?" he repeated again, his voice low and controlled.

  Elizabeth sunk into a chair, her demeanor as regal as any queen. "Because she was unfit," she replied smoothly, dropping all pretense.