***
Fin hated this feeling. He hated being at odds with Victoria, even though neither of them had spoken as much to that end. Still, there was obvious tension, and it was his fault.
No. It was her fault.
Or was it? He wasn’t quite sure who was to blame. He only knew that Victoria wasn’t accountable to him, and if she didn’t want to tell him why she was in Southwark that morning, she didn’t have to.
Then why did it bother him so damned much?
The five of them entered The Grove, making small talk until they reached their supper box. The concert would start shortly, but first dinner would be served, along with free-flowing wine and champagne. Fin thought he might drink an entire bottle himself. He hoped it would make things less awkward with Victoria, so when the bottles arrived, he claimed one and hid it on the floor beside his chair.
“What are you doing?”
He looked up to see Victoria staring at him, her brow crumpled with curiosity.
“Ah, nothing,” he said, casually placing the bottle back on the floor and bringing his glass to the table.
Her brows rose. Clearly, he wasn’t very good at covert operations.
“I suspect you’ll want to share that.” She held her glass out to him.
“Of course.” He was careful not to touch her hand as he took her glass, and just as careful when he handed it back.
Damn it, this was awkward. They had touched hands, brushed shoulders—they’d had plenty of physical contact over the years and it had never felt uncomfortable. They were like brother and sister, for God’s sake.
Only they weren’t actually, were they?
“I’ve never seen the Handel statue up close. Would you care to escort me there to have a look, Fin?”
That wasn’t true. The first time they visited Vauxhall, she spent nearly thirty minutes studying the statue. That was many years ago, when she was but a girl of sixteen, and he still saw her as a child, being twenty-four himself at the time. Somehow, though the years between them remained the same, the gap seemed far smaller.
But who was he to turn down an opportunity to clear the air between them?
“Well, you’re not leaving now, are you? The music is about to start.” Lady Grantham stared back at them with a shrewd look in her eye.
“I need to stretch my legs, Mother, or I’ll be too uncomfortable to enjoy the music.”
“Your brother will go with you, then.”
Victoria’s lips pressed together in a thin line. She was clearly perturbed. But she held her tongue, turned abruptly and then left the box. With a quick glance at one another, Fin and Tom both rose from their seats and followed her.
“What’s the matter with my sister?” Tom asked as they walked side by side, Victoria just a bit ahead of them.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Fin replied. “I won’t lie to you, she’s been acting rather strangely. I had hoped she might confess the problem to me on this walk.”
“Lord Leyburn, what a pleasant surprise.” Satan’s daughter herself stepped in front of them on the path. She was turned out in black and crimson, her breasts thrust forth for all the world to see.
Fin rolled his eyes, but managed to suppress his groan. “Lady Beecham, we meet again.”
“Indeed.” She batted her eyelashes as she shifted her gaze to Tom. “Would you mind if I stole Mr. Barclay from you for a few moments.”
Fin was sure he’d never been so happy to see Lady Beecham. “By all means.” He stepped around her and left Tom to his own devices. It seemed his friend might not mind being left in the woman’s clutches, so Fin didn’t feel terribly guilty for abandoning him.
In a few long strides, he had caught up to Victoria, and he fell into step beside her, taking her elbow as he did. She looked up at him, her face more open and vulnerable than he had ever seen it.
“Victoria,” he said, his tone soft and beseeching, “will you please tell me what this is all about?”
She was quiet for a few moments, but when she spoke, her words sounded almost pained. “I cannot, Fin.”
She cannot? “Then why did you ask me to walk with you?”
“To tell you just that.” She glanced about, and then stopped just before the statue. “And you must stop trying to figure it out.”
“Like hell I will.” Fin was getting upset now. What the devil was this mad girl up to?
“Fin, please,” she begged of him. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Then please explain.”
“I told you,” she said emphatically, “I cannot.”
“Is it dangerous?” She stared at him and silence fell between them. “Damn it, Victoria, what the devil is going on? Are you being blackmailed?”
“No!”
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No! Fin, please stop trying to guess. The closer you get to finding out, the more dangerous it becomes.” She closed her eyes and took a breath. “Please, Fin. I’ve been at this for more than two years—”
“Two years?”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Fin’s nostrils flared. There had been times in their relationship when he had thought himself infuriated with Victoria. Such as the time when she had teased him about his bold jonquil waistcoat (which, admittedly, was probably not a good look for him). Or the many times she’d treated him as though he were but excrement beneath her feet. But he now realized that he’d only been annoyed with her in those instances. She had treated him like a brother, and in return, he’d forgiven her as if she were a sister.
This was different. Now he was infuriated. How dare she put herself in danger for—had she really said two years? How could she possibly have hidden such a monumental and dangerous secret from him for so long? And what kind of danger was she in?
“Victoria Barclay, you will stop this immediately, whatever it is that you’re doing. I will not stand by and watch you put yourself in danger.”
“Then don’t watch. Pretend you know nothing at all. Pretend you never saw me in Southwark this morning.” Her eyes were pleading, and if he hadn’t known better, he might have thought they were filling with tears. But Victoria Barclay didn’t cry.
“But I did see you. And I cannot forget it.”
They had come to an impasse, it seemed. Deep down, he knew that no matter how much he yelled or threatened, Victoria would never tell him her secret. That didn’t mean he was any less angry with her, though.
He gave her his most disdainful look, and then walked away. He wouldn’t stand here and do this with her. She would only make him angrier, and the fact of the matter was that they still had to get through this night. After that, he would stay out of Victoria’s life as much as was humanly possible. If she met her demise, he didn’t want to be there to see it.
“Fin, wait,” she said to his back. “Please, Fin, you don’t understand.”
He should have kept walking, but he couldn’t help himself. He whirled on her, and much to his dismay, pointed his finger at her as he walked towards her again.
“That’s right, Victoria, I don’t understand.” She flinched at his tone. Fin had never spoken to her like this. He had always exhibited patience with Vickie. But he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “And you are the only person who could rectify that, aren’t you?”
“But I told you—”
“You cannot. Yes, I know.”
“It’s not for me, Fin. This isn’t for my own protection that I keep you in the dark on this matter.”
Ha! Did she think to protect him? “How very charming,” he said with no small amount of acerbity to his tone. “I’m being looked after by a woman.”
“Stop this, Fin, please.”
Now she truly looked as if she might cry, but Fin was beyond caring. “I will stop when you decide you trust me enough to tell me what the devil you’re up to. Until then, I must ask you to refrain from speaking to me.”
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With that and an incredibly heavy heart, Fin walked away.
Nine
Victoria stared after Fin as he walked away from her. It was almost painful to watch him go. She wished with all her heart that she could confide in him, tell him everything, but she couldn’t. Not now, not ever. Not only would it put him in danger, but she was certain he would never understand. No one of their class would. There were many times even she wondered why she risked it all, but then an incident like with Anna and Mrs. Potts would happen. What would they have done had she not been there? Anna might have died if Victoria hadn’t found Mrs. Potts. Molly might have died without Sarah’s constant attention to bringing down her fever.
Yes, there was a reason she did what she did, and Fin would never understand.
She walked alone back to the supper box. Fin was there, pretending to be in good spirits as he regaled her parents with a story about a painting. Tom was absent, probably off somewhere on a lonely garden path with that vile Lady Beecham. No one paid Victoria any mind while she took her seat and turned her attention to the musicians.
As she listened, she scanned the patrons carefully, looking for her next victim. She needed an easy target, someone who wouldn’t put up any kind of fight when she held them at gunpoint. And someone with a large enough purse to make a difference at the hospital.
Her gaze landed on a box full of some of London’s most notorious and downright annoying dandies. The flashes of color that erupted from their group were almost offensive to the eye. However, among them would be a generous donor. She just had to figure out which one.
She rose from her seat and started to leave the box again.
“Victoria, where are you going?” her mother asked.
“Just for a bit of air,” she replied, hoping her mother wouldn’t note that the entire theater was open to the air.
“Not without an escort.”
Victoria’s eyes darted to Fin. He wore a pained look on his face. The one that said he would rather eat horse excrement than accompany her on a walk right then.
“I saw Tom,” she said. “He’s only just outside.”
She prayed her mother would take her word for it, for she truly had no earthly idea where her brother was at the moment.
“Fine. Be gone with you then.”
With an internal sigh of relief, Victoria left the box again and set to her plan. She would infiltrate the box of dandies. She had the charm of a porcupine and mediocre looks, but still, she had to try.
She counted the boxes as she walked around the outside, and when she was sure she’d found the right one, she peeked her head inside.
“Oh, dear,” she said, loudly enough for the men inside to hear. Seven heads swung her way, some with smiles, some with questioning looks. “I seem to have lost my way. I could have sworn this was my father’s box.”
She leaned back, pretending to look about at the other boxes. There was a bit of a scuffle inside and then one of the dandies—a rather attractive one, at that—appeared in front of her.
“Well, you needn’t rush off so quickly, miss. Would you care for a glass of champagne?”
“Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly drink your champagne!” She gave a nauseating bat of her eyelashes.
“Please,” the young man replied. “It would be our honor to have such a lovely lady grace our box.”
Victoria wanted to laugh. As a matter of fact, it was all she could do not to laugh. “Well, I suppose one glass couldn’t hurt.”
An hour and several glasses of champagne later, Victoria had the dandies eating out of her hand. They seemed fascinated by her, and why shouldn’t they be? She swore, she told bawdy jokes and her ability to deliver sarcasm could not be matched by most men, let alone young debutantes. Part of her hated that she had to choose one to rob in the near future, but it was her job, and she would not be swayed.
She even surprised herself by her ability to keep up with their banter while trying to distinguish the rich from the poor. Or rather, the ones who had the money to spend, and the ones who didn’t but spent it anyway. By the end of the hour, she had come to a decision, and it almost pained her to make it. She would rob the one who had invited her into the box and offered the champagne.
The others called him Woodmore. He was a mister, not a lord, and an only child from what she gleaned during conversation. So Victoria assumed that for him to have infiltrated this clan of dandified gentlemen, he must have been wealthy. Probably in trade. But if one had enough money, the means by which they came by said money might be overlooked.
So she flirted with him the most, and by the time she insisted she must depart, he was practically salivating. Victoria couldn’t deny she was a bit flattered by his attention, but she made a point to not let it get in the way of her job.
“Miss Barclay,” he said as he escorted her from the box. “Might I call upon you tomorrow afternoon?”
“Well, of course, Mr. Woodmore,” she replied with another innocuous bat of her lashes. “You would be most welcome.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Victoria tried desperately to ignore the shot of excitement that shot to her belly at his touch. Goodness, he really was quite handsome.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he whispered.
“Until tomorrow.”
The Robber Bride (Regency Historical Romance) Page 13