Page 5 of An Honorable Deception
Vaguely she noted that the front door closed again, and James Parks ran in behind Yates, no room in his expression for anything but worry. “What about Dr. Sterling?” he asked. “He’s trustworthy.”
“His wife’s one of London’s fastest-tongued gossips.” Yates moved directly toward Lavinia—no, toward the sofa. “Do you mind, Vinny? And would you spread that old blanket out first?”
For a single second, she blinked, no idea what he meant. All she could think was that he hadn’t called herVinnysince they were five years old, when her mother had threatened to forbid him from playing with her and Marigold if he dared to use such a horrid nickname again. Then she realized he needed the sofa for whoever the unconscious woman was, and she leapt to spread the blanket before backing away, muttering something incomprehensible like “Yes, sorry, here, what?”
James had darted around her and was arranging pillows in a way that made no logical sense whatsoever. “Dr. Jaffrey?”
“On holiday in the Med.”
“What about Keats?”
“Hmm.” Yates eased the woman down onto the cushions. She didn’t so much as stir. “Yes, he’ll do. And Butterfield at Scotland Yard—no one else.”
“Right. I’ll ring them both up.” James darted from the room, not so much as glancing Lavinia’s way.
Understandable. She darted to Yates’s side and looked down. Her throat went tight. That wasn’t just any girl. That was Lady Alethia Barremore. “Yates?” The question ended on more of a hiss than she’d intended, but what was she supposed to do? He’d said he was stepping out for an appointment,and he returned an hour later with a bloodied daughter of a viceroy in his arms. She snaked out a hand and fastened it to his arm like fangs. “Tell me she isn’t dead. You wouldn’t be fetching a doctor if she was dead, would you?”
She couldn’t be. The blood was still seeping, staining, growing. Lavinia’s head spun, her vision blurring.
“Her pulse is steady,” Yates said by way of answer, crouching down and pressing big fingers to the graceful column of Lady Alethia’s neck, wanting to verify his words anew.
It wasn’t Lavinia’s head that was spinning—it was the whole world. She had to reach out again to Yates to find something steady, gripping his shoulder this time, since he’d escaped her hand so easily. “What did you do?”
Only when she heard the words fall from her lips did she realize how they would sound. She didn’t mean to imply that he had caused whatever wounds afflicted the young lady—she knew Yates too well to think him capable of that. But how had he found her? Was hewithher? Were they...?
She drew her hand away again and immediately regretted it. But rather than reach out a third time, she stumbled to the nearest chair and fell into it. It wasn’t that Yates didn’t have a right to court whatever pretty young socialite he pleased. But she should haveknownit. Marigold should have told her. The fact that she hadn’t meant that Marigold didn’t know, and if Yates’s sister didn’t know, then it meant he was sneaking about, andthatwas an outrageous thought.
But then why was James with them? The vicar surely wasn’t involved in any secret trysts.
Yates shot her a look she couldn’t begin to decipher. “Where’s Marigold?”
“Resting.” She would offer to go and wake her, but that would mean leaving Yates alone with Lady Alethia, which didn’t seem proper. So instead, she got up again and movedto kneel beside him. Her throat went tight. “Are those ... bullet wounds?” She was no expert on types of injuries, but these were telltale.
Not like Mother’s had been. The rifle shot that had stopped Mother from killing Marigold had left a wide, gaping wound. These were smaller.
Yates somehow shifted to block her view, his hands landing on her shoulders, lifting her back to her feet and pushing her away all at once. “She’s apparently angered some dangerous men with some questions she raised. She ... ran into James’s church for assistance, but they caught her up. James and I brought her here straightaway. It didn’t seem wise to take her to hospital with such men after her. She’d be too easy to find.”
Her eyes went wide, and she craned to see around him. “How fortuitous that God led her to James and you!”
He shifted to block her view again. “Vinia. You don’t need to look. I know...”
She squeezed her eyes shut but only for a second. One second to gather the mask she didn’t think she’d need here in her best friend’s house. To become Lady Lavinia, heiress to Lord Hemming again, rather thanher. Then she lifted her chin. “I am perfectly capable of helping. And would never forgive myself if I didn’t.”
Yates scowled. “Don’t you dare do that with me.”
She planted her hands on her hips and scowled back, even if it did require craning her head a bit. “Don’t force me to.”
He stared at her for a moment and then huffed out a breath. “Stubborn as Marigold. Fine. Will you stay with her a moment while I fetch said stubborn sister of mine?”
She couldn’t have said why the question made the shell fracture and fall away again. But her shoulders relaxed. “Of course.”
He ran from the room, and she heard him taking the stairs at a pace that said his long legs were swallowing at least two or three steps at a time. And she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he rode the railing down again either. She’d seen him do it—and not a decade ago. Last week.
But right now she wasn’t going to waste any time shaking her head over his ridiculous antics. She knelt again at Alethia’s side and repositioned the pillows under her so that they supported her head and the small of her back and under her knees. “There.” She spoke softly, having no idea if the young lady could hear her. “I’m Lady Lavinia. We’ve been at some of the same parties but were never introduced. I’ve read about you, though. And we’ve seen each other about in the neighborhood.”
And as those articles sprang to mind—some of them penned by Gemma, who Lavinia had been chuffed to learn a few months ago was none other than her favorite columnist, G. M. Parker—she found her gaze drifting down the young lady’s legs, to the shoes in clear view.
Juttishoes, their embroidery and beading capturing in a glance what had society labeling this girl an exotic treasure. Not that there weren’t young ladies aplenty who’d spent their childhood in India, but only Lady Alethia chose to proclaim it with her clothing. There was always something from the subcontinent on her person. The beautiful shoes, apashminashawl, Indian jewelry...
