A Dangerous Temptation (Bow Street Brides Book 5) Page 7

  “Did you know France has a new Prime Minister?” she asked, lowering the paper. “Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord. That’s quite a mouthful. He’s said to be a very skilled politician. I wonder if he will still have Napoleon sent into exile.”

  “Honestly, my dear, why do you concern yourself with such trivial matters?”

  Amelia lifted the paper back up. “I would hardly describe the new leader of England’s greatest rival a trivial matter,” she said, her words muffled by a roughly sketched caricature of a group of Whigs lounging about a buffet table. She heard the scrape of chair legs against the floor and the rustle of muslin as her mother sat down across from her.

  “Ahem,” said the duchess, delicately clearing her throat.

  “Yes?” Amelia had been dearly hoping to avoid discussing the events of last night, but it seemed Vanessa was not of a like mind. She knew Lord Reinhold hadn’t made good on his threat to lie and say she’d thrown herself at him (if he had, she would have been awaken before dawn by her mother’s shrieks), but it was not likely his bruised, battered face had gone unnoticed. Someone would have most likely seen him limping away from the terrace, and if that someone had also seen her…well, it would only be a matter of time before the gossip column at the back of The London Caller exploded with speculation.

  The infamous Lady V never used names outright, but her descriptions were close enough to leave no doubt in anyone’s mind as to exactly who she was talking about.

  Amelia could all but see it now.

  The last Ball of the Season ended with a royal bang last eve when a certain earl boasting an emerald green waistcoat approached a certain lady wearing a chartreuse gown – shame it wasn’t cobalt – for a private word out on the terrace and received much more than he bargained for. What words were exchanged? Who was the dark, handsome stranger that interfered on the lady’s behalf and sent the earl home clutching a bloodied handkerchief? We can only guess, my dear readers. We can only guess.

  “Put down the paper, Amelia, and leave the politicking to the men,” Vanessa ordered. “There is something I would like to discuss with you.” Picking up a small silver bell sitting in the middle of the table she gave it a sharp ring. “A fresh pitcher of cream,” she said when a maid hurried in. “And a poached egg, dusted lightly with salt, absolutely no pepper.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Right away, Your Grace.”

  Amelia waited until the maid had left the parlor. “If this is about last night, I have a perfectly reasonable explanation–”

  “Your father is coming home sooner than expected.” Vanessa frowned. “What do you have to explain?”

  “Nothing,” Amelia said hastily. “Nothing at all.” She set the paper down and stared at her mother with no small amount of surprise. “What do you mean Father is coming home sooner than expected? Why?”

  She couldn’t recall a single time the Duke of Webley had returned early from one of his trips abroad. Late, yes. He was always late. Sometimes weeks, if not months. He’d missed birthdays. Christmases. Once he’d been gone for an entire Season. But in all those years, he’d never come back before he was scheduled.

  Vanessa poured herself a cup of coffee, then set it aside to wait for the maid to return with the cream. “It seems he suffered a minor injury during one of his hunting expeditions. It’s not serious,” she assured her daughter when Amelia’s eyes widened with alarm, “but he would like us to remain in town to await his arrival. He wants to be seen by Dr. Atwood.”

  “Does that mean–”

  “We will have to delay our holiday to Bath?” her mother sighed. “Yes, I am afraid so.”

  “I was going to ask if it meant Father will be bedridden.”

  Vanessa blushed, then scowled. “And how am I supposed to know that?” she said testily. “The letter I received this morning was very short and direct. Your father will have to fill in the details when he arrives this afternoon.”

  “He’s coming today?”

  “Yes. Which means you would do well to remember your manners before he gets here. I can only assume he will want to know why you are not engaged or seriously considering a proposal. Last night was the end of your fourth season, Amelia.”

  She said it as though her daughter had committed a crime.

  “It’s hardly my fault the crop of suitors has been less than desirable over the past four years.” To put it mildly. Up until yesterday Amelia would have considered Lord Reinhold one of the best of the bunch, and look how that had turned out. “Would you have me marry someone I don’t love?” she asked, toying with the edge of the lace tablecloth.

  “Do not be absurd,” her mother scoffed. “You don’t need to love your husband, my dear. You just need to like him. Honestly. Where do you get such silly ideas?”

  “Certainly not from you and Father.” Amelia knew she’d gone a step too far when Vanessa’s cheeks paled. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have–”

  “My relationship with your father is a private matter,” her mother snapped. “You will not bring it up again. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” Amelia said. But not for the first time she wondered why her parents had ever gotten married in the first place. It was obvious they were not in love. Nor did they seem to like each other all that much. Of course, it was hard to tell given they were rarely in the same country together, let alone the same room. And when they were in each other’s company the air surrounding them was so frigid one would do well to wear a fur-lined cloak.

  Had they ever loved each other? There was a part of her that doubted it. The same part that looked at the cold, polite indifference with which the Duke and Duchess of Webley treated one another and wanted more.

  More love. More compassion. More fire.

  She didn’t want to just like her husband. She wanted to burn for him.

  And she wanted him to burn for her.

  She also wasn’t very keen on having a husband who left her for months on end, as her father did to her mother. Nor did she want one who treated her like a stranger when he finally returned. She wanted a husband who valued her. Who wanted to spend time with her. Who looked at her…well, who looked at her like Kent looked at her. As if he couldn’t bear to let her go, even for a minute. As if she were the most important person in his life instead of an afterthought or – even worse – an obligation.

  There were times she honestly didn’t know how her mother did it. How she handled the isolation. The loneliness. The careless disregard for her feelings. She acted as if it were normal. She pretended – or maybe she really did believe – that her marriage was exactly as it should be.

  And that terrified Amelia more than she cared to admit.

  “Should we go meet Father’s ship?” she asked softly.

  “No. He made it quite clear that he would like for us to await his arrival at home.” Vanessa stood up. “Now if you will excuse me, I need to prepare myself.”

  “Mama?”

  The duchess paused in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “Maybe – maybe it will be different this time,” Amelia ventured.

  Maybe Father won’t ignore us.

  Maybe he’ll stay longer than a fortnight.

  Maybe, for once, we’ll feel like a real family.

  “Oh, Amelia. Where do you get such silly ideas?” With a tittering laugh, Vanessa quit the parlor.

  “Captain.” Grant waited until all of the Runners had left the meeting room before he approached Owen. “A word, if you have a minute to spare.”

  “I do.” Folding up the map they were using to track The Slasher’s movements – he’d last been seen in the West End where he’d sustained a gunshot wound before managing to escape – Owen tucked it under his arm. “Come up to my office.”

  Grant followed Owen up the creaky staircase and lifted a brow when he heard a loud ruckus coming from one of the holding cells on the third floor. There was yelling, a muffled curse, and then the unmistakable sound of a metal door clanging shu
t.

  “Two sailors got a little heavy handed with a barmaid at The Pony last night,” Owen explained as he opened the door to his office and gestured for Grant to proceed him. “I’m letting them sober up before they’re hauled off to Newgate.” He sat down behind his desk. “What’s on your mind, Hargrave?”

  “Kent.” Walking across the room, Grant clasped his hands together behind his back and stared out the window. From this height he could just make out the white billowing sail of a large sailing vessel as it steered into the harbor. “My wife has come up with a plan to bring him back in line. But it’s a bit…unusual.”

  “Given what happened last night, I’ll take unusual.”

  Grant rocked back on his heels. “You heard about Reinhold, then.”

  “Of course I heard.” There was a brief shuffling of papers, and then Owen sighed. “If Kent does something like that again I’ll have no choice but to let him go. He’s becoming unstable. This obsession he has with finding The Slasher has taken over every facet of his life.”

  “Not every facet,” Grant said slowly as he turned around. “It seems there’s a woman.”

  Owen snorted. “Isn’t there always?”

  “Juliet is convinced that if Kent has something – or in this case, someone – to focus on other than The Slasher, there’s a chance he might be saved.”

  Both men were quiet for a moment as they reflected on their own wives…and how much they’d changed their lives for the better.

  Owen, not unlike Kent, had been a man hell bent on revenge until his beloved Scarlett showed him that love was more powerful than hate. And Grant had been teetering helplessly between two very different worlds before Juliet revealed an entirely new path. One that brought him out of the shadows and into the light.

  Without their women, they would not be the men they were today. Thus it stood to reason that if Kent found a partner just as meaningful it might alter his deadly course. Because it wasn’t a question of if the Irishman was going to kill himself or someone else in his violent quest for vengeance.

  It was a matter of when.

  “What does your wife propose we do?” Owen’s eyes narrowed when he saw Grant’s expression. “Nothing illegal, I hope. You know our agreement–”

  “Yes,” Grant interceded, “and Juliet has no intention of breaking it.”

  The captain had been very forgiving when it came to Juliet’s long list of illicit activities. In short, he’d decided to pretend the list didn’t exist – if she promised she would never steal again. Juliet had been reluctant to hang up her hat as London’s best jewel thief but, in her own words, at least she’d gone out on top. She still had the devious mind of a thief, however, as her plan was nothing shy of criminal.

  “Juliet thinks you should assign Kent to this particular woman.”

  Owen frowned. “Is she in danger?”

  “Not exactly. But if someone – not Juliet, of course – were to steal something valuable from her…say, a priceless piece of jewelry…well, it would stand to reason her father would hire a Runner to investigate. Mayhap even hire him as a guard.”

  “And just who is this girl’s father?” Owen asked suspiciously.

  This was going to be the tricky part. “The Duke of Webley.”

  “The Duke of–” Owen gaped at him. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

  “I was afraid this would be your reaction.” Which was exactly what he’d told Juliet, but as usual his wife hadn’t listened to him. Owen will do the right thing, she’d said with the utmost confidence. You’ll see.

  “Bloody hell, Hargrave.” The captain threw up his hands. “I’d hoped your morals would rub off on your wife, but now I’m afraid the opposite has happened. Do you even hear yourself? You want me to allow one of my Runners to rob the Duke of Webley, one of the wealthiest and most influential men in all of Parliament – the very same Parliament that is just waiting for an excuse to end the Runners, by the by – just so Kent can get close to his daughter?”

  Grant rubbed his chin. “Aye, that’s about the gist of it.”

  “No,” Owen said flatly. “Absolutely not.”

  “Kent wouldn’t have any idea what was going on, and neither would Webley. Everyone will assume it’s simply another thief following in Juliet’s footsteps. There’ll be no reason to suspect it’s an inside job.” Grant paused. “I told you it was an unusual plan.”

  “It’s not unusual, it’s bloody insane. I won’t have any part in it.”

  “I agree it is rather unconventional, but we need to do something–”

  “You misunderstand me.” Bracing his knuckles on his desk, Owen stood up. “I won’t have any part in it.” He met Grant’s gaze without blinking. “Do you understand now?”

  Yes, Grant was fairly certain he did.

  “I’ve taken up enough of your time,” he said as he began to back towards the door. “I’ll see myself out.” And before Owen could come to his senses, he proceeded to do just that.

  Chapter Six

  “Father. You look well.” It wasn’t the first lie Amelia had told her father, and she sincerely doubted it would be the last. But surely the small fib was better than the truth: that the Duke of Webley looked positively horrible.

  He’d only been gone for the better part of a month, but he looked as though he had been living in the wildlands of India for a year. His skin was pale and sickly. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes. He had lost at least a stone and it showed in both the gauntness of his cheeks and the way his clothes hung off of his body as though tailored for a man twice his size.

  “Amelia.” Even his voice had changed. It was deeper. Scratchier. But there was familiar warmth in his deep brown eyes when he sat up straighter in his bed and gestured for her to sit down in a chair beside him. “You look unmarried.”

  “Not you too.” A maid had opened the windows in the duke’s bedchamber and a soft breeze stirred Amelia’s hair as she sat next to her father. Reaching out, she clasped his right hand – the left was wrapped in a sling – and gave a gentle squeeze. “I missed you, Father.”

  That wasn’t a lie. Her relationship with the duke may have been a complicated one fraught with tension and confusion, but she did miss him when he went away. Or at least, she missed the man he was when he first returned. The one who treated her with affection and told her exciting stories and took her riding through Hyde Park.

  In a few days, a week at the most, that man would disappear and in his place would be a veritable stranger, one with a short temper and no time for his daughter or his wife. Then he’d be gone, off on another hunting expedition while Amelia and Vanessa dealt with the lingering effects of his abuse and abandonment. A month, two months, sometimes even six until he suddenly reappeared and the cycle would repeat itself all over again.

  It had been that way for as long as Amelia could remember. And yet no matter how many times she told herself to keep her distance, or how many times she reminded herself that nothing she did or said would make him stay, she always found herself right back here. Craving his approval and attention like a wilting flower craved the sun.

  “I missed you as well, darling.” The duke winced as he sat up straighter in his bed. “Imagining your sweet smile was what helped get me home again.”

  “What happened?” Amelia asked, her brows drawing together in concern when she looked at his arm. The doctor had bandaged it from shoulder to wrist and placed the entire limb in a thick canvas sling. Her father had been resting for two days and this was the first opportunity she’d had to view the injury up close. “Mother said it was some sort of attack…?”

  “It seems my new guide wasn’t as familiar with the terrain as he claimed. We accidentally stumbled across a Native tribe during our hunt, and suffice it to say they were not pleased to see us.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I’m just lucky their spears weren’t tipped with poison.”

  “You could have been killed!” Amelia cried. The knowledge that she’d nearly lost her fat
her twisted inside of her like a knife and she jumped to her feet in a swirl of pale blue muslin. “And for what? To hang another dead animal head in your study? Why can’t you be happy here? Why can’t you stay here? Are Mother and I truly such a burden that you must go halfway around the world to escape us?”

  “Darling,” he began hoarsely, “we’ve been over this–”

  “No. No.” Maybe it was the duke’s injury, or perhaps it was the way Lord Reinhold had threatened her, but she was done – done – with letting herself be the victim. She wasn’t a helpless damsel in distress, dependent on a father who didn’t love her and a suitor who didn’t respect her. She was an intelligent, capable, strong-willed woman.

  And she was tired of being manipulated by deceptive men.

  “Do you want to know why I haven’t married?” she demanded, blue eyes flashing. “Because I am terrified of ending up with a husband exactly like you.”

  “Amelia,” Vanessa gasped, startled when her daughter bolted past her just as she was about to enter the bedchamber. “What on earth–”

  “I am going for a walk,” Amelia snapped before she ran down the stairs and out the front door. She could hear her mother calling after her. Begging her to stop. To wait. To ‘think of what people might say’. Ignoring Vanessa’s pleas, she went as far and as fast from the house as she could, her path blurred by tears she refused to let fall. Several ladies – some of whom she recognized – stopped and stared as she raced past, but she ignored them.

  Eventually she found herself on a small, tree-lined path in the middle of Hyde Park. Throwing herself down on the first bench she came across, she buried her face in her hands and belatedly realized she wasn’t wearing gloves or even a bonnet, for that matter. By the ton’s strict standards, she might as well have been naked. But she didn’t care because she was tired, so very, very tired, of living her life according to everyone else’s expectations but her own.