by Amanda Quick
A sad comprehension appeared in Horatia’s eyes. “How long have you been in love with Colchester, my dear?”
Imogen smiled ruefully “Since I read his first article in the Zamarian Review, I suspect.”
“What a tangle this has all become.”
“Yes.” Imogen took a deep breath. “And as I am the one who created this Gordian knot, it is up to me to unravel it.”
Two nights later Imogen stood unnoticed behind a massive potted fern in Lord and Lady Wellstead’s ballroom and watched Patricia slip out into the hall.
Imogen frowned, wishing that Matthias were present to deal with this new dilemma. Unfortunately he had again managed to avoid putting in an appearance. His dislike of social events was swiftly becoming a problem because Patricia resented the chaperones he had assigned to her.
Patricia had grudgingly consented to being accompanied by Imogen and Horatia to and from various social affairs because Matthias gave her no choice. But once she had arrived at a soiree or ball she made it a point to put as much distance between herself and her companions as possible. It was clear that she was embarrassed by her brother’s fiancée, and some of that attitude spilled over to include Horatia.
Imogen sighed as she watched her charge leave the ballroom. There was nothing for it, she would have to go after Patricia.
Imogen put down the glass of lemonade she had just taken from a passing tray. There was no reason to be overly concerned, she told herself. It was not as if Patricia had gone out into Wellstead’s extensive gardens, where a young, innocent lady might conceivably get herself into serious trouble. A number of couples had already vanished into that shadowy world of high hedges and dark paths.
Imogen made her way along the wall to the door through which Matthias’s sister had escaped. It was possible that Patricia was merely seeking respite from the huge crowd and the overheated atmosphere. But there had been something distinctly furtive about the way she had carefully glanced around before disappearing. It was as if Patricia feared she might be followed.
She certainly would not thank Imogen for coming after her. Unfortunately, Imogen’s sense of duty would not allow her to ignore the situation. The mansions of the ton were dangerous places for young ladies who strayed from the protection of the crowd. Imogen had learned that lesson three years earlier.
She went through the door and found herself in a narrow servants’ passage. It was empty except for a cart laden with lobster tarts. She went past it, turned a corner, and went down another hall. At the end of the corridor she discovered a cramped staircase that twisted around itself.
Imogen paused to search for another exit, but there was none. She realized that Patricia must have climbed the winding stairs to the next floor. Imogen felt a tingle of real alarm.
It was obvious that Patricia had known where she was going. If she had simply stepped out of the ballroom for fresh air, she would have retreated immediately once she had realized that she had wandered into a servants’ passage. This departure had all the marks of a planned assignation.
Imogen lifted her skirts and quickly went up the narrow steps. Her soft dancing slippers made no sound on the wooden treads.
There was just enough light from a wall sconce to make out a door at the top of the stairs. Imogen opened it cautiously and peered around the corner. She saw nothing but dense shadow dimly lit at regular intervals by shafts of moonlight that filtered through a row of tall windows.
She went through the door and closed it quietly behind her. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, she was barely able to make out the glint of heavy gilded squares hanging on the wall. Dozens of them. She realized that she was in a picture gallery that stretched the entire length of the big house.
Imogen gazed about, searching the shadows for some sign of Patricia. A small sound at the far end of the long gallery made her whirl around. She caught sight of a wisp of pale skirts just before they vanished into an alcove.
“Patricia? Is that you?” Imogen strode forward briskly.
And promptly rammed a toe into the claw-footed leg of a chair she had not noticed in the darkness.
“Bloody hell.” She winced and bent down to massage her injured toe.
A man stepped out of the shadows. “Miss Waterstone?”
“Who in the world—?” Startled, Imogen stepped back quickly and stared at the figure who was coming toward her. She recognized him as he passed through a shaft of moonlight. “Lord Vanneck.”
“I regret this melodramatic arrangement.” Vanneck came to a halt and stood looking down at her with unpleasant intensity. “But I had to speak to you in private. I’ve had a devil of a time arranging this meeting.”
“Where is Lady Patricia?”
“She is already on her way back to the ballroom accompanied by a respectable lady. Patricia is quite safe, I assure you. Her reputation is in no jeopardy.”
“Then there is no need for me to remain here.” Imogen seized her skirts and made to dart around Vanneck.
“Wait.” Vanneck grabbed her arm as she went past him, forcing her to stop. “I’ve gone to a deal of trouble to arrange this meeting, and I mean to talk to you.”
“Let me go.”
“Not until you’ve heard me out.” Vanneck paused. “For Lucy’s sake, you must listen to me.”
“Lucy’s sake.” Imogen froze. “What does this have to do with poor Lucy?”
“You were her friend.”
“What of it?”
“Damnation, Miss Waterstone, hear me out. Lucy would have wanted me to protect you. You never did know how to defend yourself in Society.”
“I don’t need your protection, sir.”
Vanneck’s hand tightened on her arm. “Surely you realize that Colchester deliberately compromised you so that he could announce an engagement.”
“He did no such thing.”
“He’s after the Queen’s Seal. Have you given him the map?”
“No, I have not.”
“I thought not,” Vanneck said with grim satisfaction. “If you had, he would have terminated the engagement. Don’t you see what he’s doing? He will cast you aside the moment he gets his hands on the map.”
Imogen smiled coolly. “You could not be more mistaken, sir.”
Fury and desperation sparked in Vanneck’s face. His fingers bit into her skin. “I want that damned seal, Miss Waterstone. Rutledge wrote that it is worth a fortune. Practically priceless.”
“You’re hurting my arm.”
He paid no attention. “A few days ago I began to put together a consortium to finance an expedition to Zamar. Unfortunately, the potential members lost interest when they learned of your engagement to Colchester. In that single stroke he ruined my plans.”
Something in his tone stirred the hair on the back of Imogen’s neck. “I really cannot stand here discussing this with you tonight. I must return to the ballroom.”
“End the engagement,” Vanneck said fiercely. “End it quickly. It is the only way. If you get rid of Colchester, I will establish the consortium. You and I will become partners. We will be rich when we find the Queen’s Seal.”
It was exactly what she wanted, but at that moment Imogen saw the seething, unhealthy intensity in him and was suddenly afraid.
“I must go,” she said quickly. “Perhaps we can discuss this some other time. It might be possible for you to form a business arrangement with Colchester.”
“With Colchester?”
Too late she realized that she had said the wrong thing. “Perhaps—”
“Impossible,” Vanneck snarled. “Colchester would never agree to such an arrangement. The whole world knows he murdered Rutledge. He would likely do the same to me if I were to form a partnership with him. You must end the engagement before you give him the map. It is the only way.”
Anger replaced caution. Imogen drew herself up to her full height. “I will do as I wish, sir. Kindly release me.”
“I wil
l not be cheated out of the Queen’s Seal by a woman’s whim. If you will not end the engagement, I shall do it for you.”
It was as if something had snapped within him. Imogen realized the danger she was in and struggled desperately to free herself. She could not escape.
Vanneck used his grip on her arm to push her down onto a nearby sofa. He flung himself on top of her with such force that he knocked the breath from her body. Imogen was stunned for an instant. She could not believe what was happening. Fear arced through her. She raked him with her nails.
“Damn you, you little bitch.” Vanneck clawed at her skirts. “When I am finished, you will beg me to finance your expedition.”
“Is this how you treated Lucy?” Imogen demanded as she fought back. “Did you rape her before you fed her the laudanum?”
“Lucy? Are you mad? I didn’t give her the laudanum.” Vanneck’s eyes were as hard as stones in the shadows. “She drank it herself. The damned woman was always complaining about her nerves.”
“Why bother to lie to me? I have reasoned it all out. I know that you arranged for me to be discovered with you in a compromising position so that people would believe Lucy committed suicide because she felt betrayed. I know you killed her. I know everything.”
“You know nothing.” Vanneck heaved himself up on his elbows. “What is going on here? Are you accusing me of murder?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’re mad. I didn’t kill Lucy.” Vanneck slitted his eyes. “Although God knows I considered it often enough. I might have gotten around to it eventually. But as it happens, she did not die by my hand.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t give a damn what you believe. The only thing I want from you is that map. And I’ll have it if it’s the last thing I do.”
He was consumed by rage and desperation, Imogen realized. He thought to control her by forcing himself upon her. She choked on a scream when she felt his clammy hand on her bare leg. He covered her mouth with a damp palm. Panic threatened to consume her. She glanced up at the wall behind the sofa and saw the gleam of a gilded frame.
As Vanneck struggled with her skirts, trying to scrape them up above her thighs, she flung out a hand and managed to grab the edge of the picture frame.
For one terrifying moment she feared that the thing would not come free of the wall. She wrenched at it even as Vanneck yanked at her gown.
The picture fell from its hooks. It was so heavy that Imogen could not control its descent. She tried to guide it as it slammed downward. It struck Vanneck’s head and shoulders with an impact that reverberated through her own body.
Vanneck shuddered, groaned, and then collapsed on top of Imogen. She shoved at him, frantically trying to push him onto the floor. Before she could free herself from his crushing weight, other hands seized hold of Vanneck.
“Bastard.” Matthias loomed, an avenging demon in the shadows. He hauled Vanneck off the sofa and dropped him at his feet.
Vanneck sprawled on the floor. He opened his eyes and gazed at Matthias with bleary recognition. “Colchester? Christ, what are you doing here?”
Matthias peeled off one glove and dropped it on Vanneck’s chest. “My seconds will call upon yours tomorrow. I’m certain that an appointment can be arranged for the day after.”
“Seconds? Seconds.” Vanneck tried to lever himself up on one elbow. He shook his head as though attempting to clear it. “You cannot be serious.”
Matthias scooped Imogen up off the sofa and held her close. “I assure you, I have never been more serious in my life.” He turned and started down the gallery.
“But you never intended to marry her.” Vanneck’s desperate cry echoed off the wall of the long hall. “Everyone knows that the engagement is a ploy. All you care about is the map. Damn your eyes, Colchester, she’s not worth a duel. This is a business matter.”
Matthias said nothing. Imogen looked up into his face as he carried her through the shadowed gallery. A shiver went through her that had nothing to do with her recent struggle.
At that moment she recognized him as the dark, mysterious figure of her dreams. She was in the arms of Zamaris, Lord of the Night.
Chapter 11
Imogen could not stop shivering. She huddled against Matthias, seeking his strength and warmth as he carried her down a flight of stairs and along a hallway. She kept her face pressed against his shoulder, her eyes squeezed shut in a vain attempt to stop the tears.
Voices, some laced with genuine concern, others with bored curiosity, floated past as Matthias strode swiftly toward the door of the mansion.
“I say, Colchester, something wrong with Miss Waterstone?” a man asked.
“She is not feeling well,” Matthias said without inflection. “Her nerves are overwrought. The excitement of the engagement, you know.”
The man chuckled. “Of course. Expect you’ll be able to come up with something to ease her fears.”
Imogen wanted to protest that her nerves were much too strong to be overset by something so mundane as an engagement, but she did not dare raise her face from Matthias’s shoulder. The man would see her tears.
“Shall I summon a doctor, sir?” a footman inquired.
“No, I shall escort her home. All she needs is rest.”
“I’ll see to your carriage, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
Imogen felt cool air against her skin. They were outside at last. In another moment she would be safely enclosed in Matthias’s carriage.
Hooves and wheels clattered on the cobblestones. There was the sound of a coach door being opened. Matthias stepped into the cab with Imogen in his arms. He lowered himself onto the cushioned seat and cradled her against him.
“Calm yourself.” He held her very tightly as the carriage set off into the night. “It’s all right, my dear. It’s over. You are safe.”
“But you are not.” Safe from prying eyes at last, Imogen erupted from the circle of his arms. She seized his shoulders and tried to shake him. “What in God’s name have you done, Matthias?”
Matthias did not move. He did not even seem to notice her fingers crushing the fine fabric of his black greatcoat. He watched her with gleaming, unreadable eyes. “I was about to ask you the same question.”
She ignored that, her attention fixed on the dire situation at hand. “You challenged Vanneck to a duel. Dear heaven, Matthias, how could you do such a thing?”
“Under the circumstances, it seemed the only appropriate response.”
“But I am unhurt.”
Matthias took her chin in his hand. “For which I can only thank God and your own brave heart. You are really quite amazing, my dear. I do believe you came close to killing Vanneck with that picture frame.”
“Then surely there was no need to challenge him,” she said desperately.
Matthias stroked the corner of her mouth with his thumb. His eyes gleamed in the shadows. “The fact that you managed to save yourself does not mean that I can allow Vanneck to go unchallenged. Indeed, I have no choice.”
“That is not true.” More tears welled up in Imogen’s eyes. She dashed the back of her hand against them. “He is not worth it, my lord. I cannot allow you to risk your life in a duel. I refuse to let you meet him.”
Matthias tipped her chin up slightly and searched her wet face with an oddly bemused expression. “I do believe these tears are for me.”
“Why else would I be crying?” she demanded crossly.
“It would be understandable if you wept because of what happened to you tonight. Even a lady with your strong nerves would have every reason to succumb to—”
“Rubbish. I am far more concerned with what may happen to you because of this idiotic challenge.” She reached up to catch his face between her hands. “Matthias, you must not do this, do you hear me? I cannot allow it.”
He wrapped his fingers around one of her wrists and squeezed gently. “It’s all right, Imogen. All will be well.”
/> “You could be killed.”
He smiled faintly. “Obviously the thought distresses you.”
“Hell and damnation, Matthias, the thought will drive me mad.”
“Why?”
Frustration and fear overwhelmed her. “Because I love you.”
A great stillness settled on the interior of the carriage. It was as if a magician had worked a spell, freezing the moment. Imogen was dimly aware of distant voices and the din of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves in the street. Lamps from passing coaches occasionally winked in the darkness. Outside the carriage the world was in motion. But inside nothing moved.
“You love me?” Matthias repeated very softly.
“Yes.”
“Then marry me tomorrow by special license.”
Imogen’s mouth dropped open. “How can you talk about marriage when your life is at stake?”
“Somehow,” Matthias said as he gathered her back into his arms, “marriage is the only thing that seems important enough to discuss at the moment.”
“But, Matthias—”
“Say you will wed me before I go to meet my fate.” He brushed a kiss across her damp eyes and dropped another into her tangled hair. “It is all I ask, my sweet.”
“I will give you anything you want if you will cancel your dawn appointment.”
“I cannot do that, Imogen. I can only assure you that I expect to live through it and join you for breakfast afterward.”
Imogen heard the implacable note in his words and knew that further protest was useless. She pummeled his shoulders with small fists. “Matthias, I beg you—”
“Marry me. Tomorrow.”
She subsided against him, exhausted by her own helpless outrage. She turned her face into his coat to blot the new flood of tears. “If that is truly your wish.”
“It is my only wish. It is all I ask.”
She could deny him nothing at that moment. “Very well.” Her voice was muffled by his coat. “I will marry you tomorrow.”
“You do not have to sound as though you are about to be transported to the colonies.”
“Oh, Matthias.”