He allowed his gaze to drop to her face. She nodded once, but he couldn’t read her expression.
“I can’t—”
“No, Tom.” She looked up at him, now with shielded eyes.
He clamped his jaw shut.
“The past is done. We must learn to accept that.” She spoke to herself in that moment, and he knew she didn’t understand what he’d meant with his apology. She thought he’d apologized for offering no explanation. But he was sorry for all that had happened since that day five years ago—losing their friendship, Althea’s marriage, everything that had come to pass when he’d fought against his father’s cruelty.
“At any rate,” Vicky said, clearly attempting to change the subject, “Dain must have hired those ruffians to attack us. No one else has a reason.”
Tom inhaled and stretched his shoulders back. He sat in the chair again. “I see why he’d imagine himself entitled to take his wife back, but what would he gain by kidnapping you? Leverage over Althea or your father?”
Vicky frowned. “Those men seemed confused. I believe they grabbed me by mistake.”
“But that man at Oakbridge was intent on harming you, not Althea. How would anyone have known she’d arrived there? It’s probable you were the target all along.”
Vicky’s eyebrows scrunched together.
A new idea crept into Tom’s head. He knew who might be behind the attack, and it wasn’t Dain. “If Dain were behind it, his problems would be solved by kidnapping Althea—not you.”
Vicky nodded.
“Therefore it stands to reason that it wasn’t Dain who orchestrated the attack.”
“But then who—”
Tom interrupted before she could finish the question. “Carmichael.”
As Susie took a quick step backward, retreating behind the facade of the long row of houses outlining the massive square, she realized the folly of this endeavor. She shook her head. She was not at all pleased with herself or her judgment. Unfortunately, that day she’d seen Charles going through the ledgers had piqued her curiosity.
He’d been acting strangely ever since. Although the town house was large, Susie couldn’t be deaf to the servants’ gossip. With the ovens working, the kitchen was the warmest room in the house, so Susie often took a seat out of the cook’s way and went about her reading. In the last few days, Cook had observed Charles was no longer making luncheon his first meal. He was actually eating breakfast in his room and leaving the town house every day before noon.
This odd behavior, coupled with their encounter in the library, had prompted Susie to follow him. But, as she now recognized, her actions had probably been due to boredom and loneliness.
She certainly hadn’t bargained on how hard it would be to follow someone in this part of London. In Mayfair, the few trees and decided lack of people milling about provided little to hide behind. Added to that, the majority of houses were connected, leaving little to no room for small alleyways. If only she’d had to follow Charles into the part of London she’d grown up in, where alleys, nooks, and crannies abounded. It would’ve made her task much simpler. With so few people and spaces to blend into, it couldn’t be long before Charles saw her skulking behind a corner.
She glanced out from behind the side of a house. Charles pulled out his pocket watch, looking anything but suspicious. For all she knew, he was walking to his club. As usual, his hair was impeccably coiffed and his brown coat and trousers gave him a look of effortless style. His walking stick swung in perfect rhythm to his footsteps.
Oh dear. This was folly indeed. What had she hoped to accomplish? Even if she did see Charles doing something odd, what could she say to him—or to Tom?
Susie sighed and looked at Charles again. She shook her head. It was no small wonder he found it hard to speak to her. She couldn’t even give him the benefit of the doubt or leave him to his privacy.
Resolving to turn home, she gave Charles one last look, expecting him to turn the corner and disappear from view. But, instead, he paused at a large mansion at the end of the square. Charles looked up at the door, leaning lightly on his walking stick, one leg in front of the other, in a pose Susie imagined the royal dukes affected often. He seemed to be pondering whether to climb the steps of the town house.
Charles turned his head to the left and right. Was he trying to see if anyone had noticed him there? After another moment’s hesitation, he climbed the stairs and used the knocker. An unpleasant-looking butler answered, and after they exchanged words, he showed Charles in.
Susie frowned. Why had Charles looked to see if anyone was watching him? Had he suspected her presence? Or, perhaps more to the point, who had Charles gone inside to meet?
As precisely as he could, Tom related the conversation he’d witnessed between Dain and Carmichael last night, but when he’d finished, Vicky shook her head.
“Tom, my father trusts Mr. Carmichael completely. They are business partners. What reason would Mr. Carmichael have to harm him?”
Tom stretched his palm open. “Who’s to say that Carmichael intended anyone harm? Perhaps the plan was simply to abduct you and those men took matters into their own hands. Unless Carmichael would benefit financially by your father’s death. You say they’re business partners?”
Vicky twisted her hands in her lap. “I don’t know the particulars of their arrangement. I can ask.”
Tom nodded. “Of course, if Carmichael marries you and Althea is granted a separation, he will, in effect, control Oakbridge when your father dies.”
“But what reason could Mr. Carmichael have for wanting Oakbridge? He is extremely wealthy. He owns at least three large properties in various parts of the country.”
“Why stop at three when he can obtain another?” The more Tom thought about it, the more it made sense. Carmichael had been trying to keep Tom from Vicky since nearly the first moment he’d met the man. If Tom’s theory were correct, it would also explain why Carmichael had attempted to discredit him to society.
“But why resort to these so-called accidents, then?” Vicky asked. “I cannot imagine Mr. Carmichael would want to marry me if I were maimed or irrevocably injured.”
“Whether Carmichael meant actual harm to come to you or not, perhaps he’s orchestrated these accidents to make you more inclined to marry quickly.”
Vicky rubbed her throat. “If he did—and I’m not conceding that,” she emphasized, meeting his eye, “then it has worked.”
Tom frowned. “How so?”
Vicky shifted in her seat. For a moment, she was silent. Then as if deciding something, she met his gaze. “I must marry someone, Tom. If I wish to stop Oakbridge from eventually going to Dain, I have no choice. My parents gave me until the end of the season, but now, with everything that has happened, I’m certain they’ll say it would be foolish to wait much longer to decide.”
Tom’s jaw went slack. That was why she was defending Carmichael? Because her parents were forcing her to marry? “Why him?”
She shifted again. “At the moment, Mr. Carmichael is my best option.”
“I see,” he said, though he didn’t really see at all. “But if Althea is seeking a legal separation, then why must you marry?”
She fiddled with a piece of lace on the skirt of her dress. “It is not certain they will win the case. And it may take years. I must marry as soon as possible so my father can petition the prince regent to make me the legal heir.”
Tom sat back in his chair. It was all much more complicated than he’d realized. And all because Althea had married Dain. He squashed his guilt and looked at Vicky. She was worrying at her lower lip. Her hooded eyes would not meet his. He couldn’t blame her. It must have sapped a fair amount of her pride to tell him this.
He shouldn’t interfere with her plans. She needed to marry and try to be happy with her decision. Yet the thought of letting her walk into Carmichael’s arms when the man was likely involved in some nefarious scheme sat like a stone in his stomach.
�
��Without Dain and Althea’s separation you would have no reason to marry—unless you wanted to.”
She nodded slowly.
Carmichael’s reasoning flashed through him like lightning. “Then perhaps Carmichael orchestrated the whole affair to get you into a position where you would have to marry him.”
Vicky’s lips parted.
“Does he know about Althea and Dain?” Tom asked.
She shook her head. “He acted as though he didn’t. I was going to ask my father to tell him just before we were attacked. Papa’s been too unwell for me to broach the subject again.”
“Last night, Dain said something was at stake, and Carmichael said that was precisely why he wouldn’t allow Dain to upset your family. ‘Not now,’ he said. I remember it distinctly.” He raised his brows. “It sounds to me that Carmichael must know of the separation proceedings. Did he show you any interest before?” If he hadn’t, it seemed all the more likely that he’d planned everything after hearing of Althea’s intentions.
Vicky shrugged. “He was very amiable when I met him in the winter, but he was at Oakbridge conducting his business with my father. He wasn’t there to see me.”
“And he paid you no special attention.”
Her brow furrowed. “Not as such.”
“And now?” he prompted.
Vicky looked away, not meeting his gaze. “I believe he likes me.”
The sentiment was no more than Tom suspected, but it irked him nonetheless. “And you are interested in him,” he stated, modulating his tone to sound neutral.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead she let out a sigh.
Tom stood and paced to the window so he could unclench his jaw without her noticing. “What if by marrying him you’re putting your family in more danger?”
“The whole idea is all rather far-fetched, Tom,” she said.
He turned back to her.
“The idea that Mr. Carmichael would pay ruffians to kidnap Althea—or even me—to frighten me into marrying him? All so he can gain control of Oakbridge? Why would he even attempt such a thing?”
“Dain recently propositioned me to sell him pieces of Halworth. I refused of course, but he and Carmichael are clearly affiliated in some way. Perhaps the land connecting Oakbridge to Halworth has some value we don’t yet realize?”
Vicky worried at her lower lip again. “It all sounds like something out of one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s romances, not what occurs in the real world.”
He exhaled, trying to ignore the strange burning sensation in his chest. “The whole scenario is fantastic, yes. But why should that preclude it from reality? Do you truly believe abductions and schemes only belong in the realm of fiction, even now?”
“This just doesn’t—those kinds of novels are simply not true to life.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Just because sensational events happen in novels, that doesn’t mean they cannot happen. And just because ordinary events occur during the majority of one’s life, that doesn’t stop the unexpected from happening at a moment’s notice.”
She lifted her chin.
“I daresay we both know that to be true by now,” he muttered.
For a long moment she did not answer. The silence stretched. Then she sighed. “You are rather insufferable when you’re right.”
He huffed out a breath.
“But I do think you should read Miss Austen’s novels anyway.”
“I will happily do so if you promise to take care.”
She nodded and offered a small smile. “I will concede that if Mr. Silby’s curricle had been tampered with, Mr. Carmichael’s friendship with him could have given him access to the vehicle.”
“I agree.”
“Yet last night when I told him of the accident, Mr. Carmichael seemed genuinely angry at Mr. Silby’s carelessness.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “He couldn’t very well act pleased, could he?”
“I suppose not.”
Tom nodded. “Just don’t trust him until you know more. Dain may be a scoundrel, but he’s not particularly clever. I don’t believe he could have planned all this.”
“What about the bandit at Oakbridge? And the . . .” She trailed off, looking past him.
“The what?” Was there another incident she hadn’t told him yet?
She exhaled and nibbled at a cuticle. “The other day, I saw a strange man in a black greatcoat staring at me from a street corner.”
Tom’s jaw tightened.
“I was in a carriage—with Mr. Carmichael.” She looked up at him with worry in her eyes. “That must absolve him, mustn’t it?”
He considered carefully before answering. “It might, but it could mean he was having you watched.”
This time her cheeks lost their color.
“Did Carmichael see him?”
She shook her head. “I was about to point the man out, but he disappeared. I told Mr. Carmichael afterward.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
She nodded. “Black hair. Nondescript face. He was familiar, but I couldn’t place him.”
“The man at Oakbridge had black hair.” It was his only distinguishing characteristic thanks to that mask.
She caught Tom’s gaze. “You’re right.” She took a deep breath. “It could have been him.”
He gave a shallow nod. “Is your family taking extra precautions?”
Vicky’s brow furrowed. “I will speak with my parents.” She looked up at him. “I do appreciate you discussing this with me. It’s good to know I’m not going mad—that someone else agrees these accidents have been far too coincidental. Even if we don’t wholly see eye to eye.”
Surprised, Tom didn’t speak for a moment. “As always, I am happy to help.”
Her smile faded.
“I could not bear the thought of anything happening to you.” The words escaped before he could stop them. Before he could think. But they were true. Then her smile returned, and he didn’t care how they might have sounded. He peered into her hazel eyes. Flecks of green glittered at him, and as one moment turned into many, he realized he was staring.
Vicky looked away first. “Thank you, Tom.”
He closed his eyes and wished to God he were imagining the ridiculous urge to loosen his cravat. “I’ll call again soon to see you’re all right.”
Vicky smiled from beneath her lashes. “That would be lovely.”
He nodded. “Please give my regards to your family.” He stood, anxious now to be away from her captivating eyes. “And please take care,” he said sincerely.
She rose from her chair, and the warmth in her smile almost undid him, so much did it remind him of happier times. She offered him her small hand. He hesitated before grasping it.
“You may depend upon it,” she said with a nod. The green flecks twinkled at him without mercy.
Chapter the Sixteenth
It was a wretched business, indeed!
—Jane Austen, Emma
An hour after Tom’s departure, Vicky left the comfort of her bedchamber and started down the hallway toward her father’s room for her turn to sit with him. The doctor had departed shortly after Tom, ordering the earl to rest, so now Vicky’s father lay in bed while his wife and daughters took turns trying to entertain him. According to the doctor, in addition to the various cuts and bruises on his face and body, her father had two broken ribs and a sprained wrist. His face looked awful, but Vicky was grateful he was alive and would recover.
Vicky tapped the third volume of Mr. Godwin’s Fleetwood against her thigh. It wasn’t one of her favorites—she found the title character wholly unlikable, though his exploits were somewhat more believable than those in Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels—but her father had recently finished the second volume, so she hoped the ending would divert him. She frowned, remembering Tom’s unexpected thoughts on sensational novels, and almost ran into Althea in the hall. Vicky stepped to the side to keep from colliding with her.
Althea gr
ipped both ends of her floral shawl with tight fists. “I was looking for you. Papa says it’s your turn.”
“Are you well?” Vicky asked. She hoped her father hadn’t said anything to distress her sister. The earl hated to be bedridden and his pain could have caused him to be short with her.
“I’m tired.”
“You should rest.” None of them had slept more than a few hours. The house had been in uproar ever since they’d returned home. Their carriage driver had run back to the town house for help and had returned with most of the male staff and a number of pistols. In addition to tending her father, the doctor had removed the bullet from their injured footman’s leg. He would recover—if his wound didn’t fester.
Althea nodded.
“How is Papa?” Vicky asked.
“He seems well enough. He was dictating his correspondence to me. I heard Tom came and went.”
“Yes, he expressed his concern for us all. He also told me he overheard some of Mr. Carmichael and Dain’s conversation before they disappeared last night. Apparently, one of them mentioned business dealings with the other. Would you know anything about that?”
Althea shook her head. “I was never privy to Dain’s plans.”
“I told Tom I thought Dain was behind the attack last night, but Tom believes Mr. Carmichael and Dain must be working together. After speaking with Tom, I’m not certain myself that Mr. Carmichael isn’t involved.”
Althea drew in a breath. “Did Tom ask why you thought it was Dain?”
Vicky bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t meant to tell Althea this way. “Do not be angry, Thea. When he told me what he overheard, I had to tell him. But I told him just enough to get his perspective.”
“No.” Althea glared daggers. “You had no right.”
“He swore he would be silent. He won’t break his word.”
“How do you know?” Althea cast her gaze at the ceiling. “You don’t even know him anymore!”
“I know he would not betray a confidence. He may not be the same boy he was when he left, but—”
“You always take his part. You always did. Even after what he did to you,” Althea said with another hard look. “Meanwhile, you let your own sister . . .”
Dangerous Alliance Page 19