Page 27 of How to Seduce a Viscount
It was so hard to be good when it would be so easy to be bad and in this case, being bad would be good. Mr Wilkes’ coat pocket wasright theredaring her to check it out as they navigated a brisk country dance. All she needed to do was feign a stumble, fall against him long enough to feel his inner pockets and retrieve anything of interest.
Of course, his pockets might be empty. A good agent didn’t carry identification on themselves. That was always the risk. In this instance, though, she thought it might be different. He wouldn’t want to leave anything behind unguarded at the vicar’s. Or there might be a weapon, something that would be entirely out of place and unnecessary at an assembly—unless one intended or anticipated trouble.
Now would be the moment as they came up on the turn. She had him laughing and smiling. But she’d promised Luce to wait. And yet, Luce hadn’t counted on such a plum opportunity. Wasn’t it an agent’s job to adapt, to be flexible as circumstancesevolved? How many times had she gone into a situation with one plan and accomplished her goals with another becausethingsevolved? Surely, Luce would understand. No doubt, he’d done the same many times as well.
Wren deliberately missed a step and fell hard against Wilkes, her hands clutching first at the lapels of his jacket, pressing her hand against the fabric where the inner pocket was located before dropping down to make a quick pass of his waistcoat pocket as well. The pockets gave nothing away but she had caught a glimpse of a shoulder holster beneath his coat, discreet enough to accommodate a gentleman’s small gun like the relatively new Philadelphia Derringer.
‘Miss Audley, are you well?’ Wilkes righted her, all outward solicitation but the laughing and the earlier smiles were gone. The eyes that met hers were hard flints. Somehow he knew what she’d been up to, perhaps he even guessed what she had seen and what it meant to her. But that was only possible if he knew who she was. A familiar ripple ran through her, part excitement, part fear. All of it the thrill of the game.
She would brazen it out in order to be sure. He wasn’t likely to shoot her on the dance floor any more than she was likely to knife him.
‘I’m fine, I just lost my footing.’ She flashed him a dazzling smile. It took no effort at all to sound breathless. ‘Thank you for saving me,’ she gushed. Most men needed very little help to see the damsel in distress.
His arm was an iron band about her. ‘Perhaps you are feeling faint and need some air? It’s a crowd in here to be sure.’ They were near the door leading downstairs into the tavern and he was ushering her towards it with unrelenting alacrity. Not that anyone would notice.Luce would notice. He’d been watching her all night. Surely, he would see. Unless there were too manypeople blocking his view. Still, Wilkes wouldn’t try anything downstairs with so many people around.
That reassurance didn’t last long. He marched her straight to the door and out into the dark stable yard where there were very few people present. It was too cold for people to linger out of doors. Grooms and drivers were huddled in the stables around stoves and warm toddies. The loudness of the music and voices inside made it improbable a scream would be heard. Fine. She wasn’t the screaming type anyway. She was the silent type. Silent and deadly. She’d have her stiletto in his gut before he knew what was happening if it came to that. She’d been in more difficult situations, just not after being sliced open.
She tried playing the delicate damsel one more time. ‘I appreciate your concern but I am fine and I must insist we go back inside. It is not seemly for us to be out here alone and my escort will be looking for me.’ It wouldn’t hurt to remind him that someonewouldnotice her absence.
The man’s flinty stare was malevolent now and it alone would have tipped his hand entirely if his words didn’t. He pushed her up against the tavern wall. ‘Since when is Falcon concerned about propriety?’ His face was close to hers—close enough to smell the sourness of his breath. He gave a cold chuckle. ‘I know who you are, just as I know who your ‘escort’ is. None other than Luce Parkhurst.’
That was all she needed to know. Promises to Luce aside, it was time to be bad. This man had come to do harm. To Luce and to her. It could not be tolerated. She slipped a hand covertly to her skirts, holding his gaze in distraction as she drew them up and reached for her stiletto. Reach and stab, lightning quick. She could see the motion in her mind. Her hand closed around the hilt and she drew the blade.
Too slow. She knew it even as she tried to finish the motion. Her injury delayed the action long enough to alert him. His handgripped her wrist, pinning it to the wall. ‘You’re getting sloppy, Falcon.’ He banged her wrist against the brick but she didn’t let go. She kicked at him, hoping to redirect his energies enough to free her hand.
‘You killed two of my friends,’ he growled, trapping her against the wall with his bulk, making it difficult to kick with any force. ‘It’s payback time. I saw you in the pub that night. I never forget a face, especially a pretty one. Too pretty to be a boy like you were pretending. The fellows and I wagered on it. I saw a lock of your hair slip out at the back of your cap. I’d never seen hair that color before. Gerlitz told me you had silver hair and when I saw it, I knew it had to be you. I’d know you anywhere.’ Which was more than what most of Europe could say, she thought cheekily. But it only took one. Dear God, the man was heavy. She could hardly breathe. She might just suffocate right here. Damn her skirts. She’d like to give him a real fight.
‘Maybe we have a little fun before I end you.’ He moved against her. ‘You’re having fun with Parkhurst, you might as well have fun with me too.’
Wren turned her head and bit the wrist of the hand holding her knife, redoubling her efforts, but she’d not realised how weak she still was. He gave a yelp and let go, lifting a hand to strike her. She dodged under his arm and ran for the door. Normally she would stand and fight but she was nowhere near fighting prime and he had a gun. The only reason he hadn’t used it yet was because he’d had that payback in mind first.
She ran into a wall of a man. The wrong man. Paterson! And the wrong Paterson at that. Dear God, where was Luce? Paterson had her about the waist but she had the advantage. She stabbed hard with the blade to his gut, deep enough to stop him, not deep enough to kill him. He staggered away. But Wilkes was charging her now. She went down beneath him, her knife skittering away out of reach. Fabric ripped, his weight punishing. She punchedat him, wriggled and squirmed, making it impossible for him to grab her hands. If she lost the use of them, she’d be done for. If she could get into his coat, grab his pistol. She nearly had it…
‘Get off her!’ The roar presaged a massive collision of male muscle meeting male muscle. Luce was on Wilkes—a lion on prey. They rolled away. She scrabbled for her knife.
‘Luce, he has a gun!’ she cried in warning.
Good lord, if anything happened to Luce she would not forgive herself. This had all been her idea. She should not have approached Wilkes and Paterson. She’d thought she was safe, that they did not know who she was. She’d danced a little too close to the fire despite her promise to Luce. If he should pay for her indiscretion…
Luce was astride Wilkes, pummelling him into submission. A gun would not be necessary. The stable yard was filling with guests now and there was help aplenty for Luce. The men were tied up while the vicar looked on stunned.
‘They weren’t from Yorkshire, I’m afraid,’ Luce said grimly, poor Vicar Paterson nodding in disbelief while his mind tried to sort it all out.
Luce went to Wren, draping his jacket about her. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked quietly, tenderly, but she heard the anger rumbling beneath. When the crisis had passed, there would be a reckoning. She’d broken her word. Again.
‘Luce, I am so sorry.’ Was she destined to ruin everything between them? She’d ruined their day in the village and now this.
‘I guess there’s no need to wait for a dinner party,’ he said wryly. ‘We might as well interrogate them now.’
Yes and no. Panic flooded her, a very different panic than the panic she’d felt fighting in the yard and realising she was too weak. Wilkes knew who she was. All of it would come out. Her search for Stepan. The other reason she had to retire… She couldnot stop it. She couldn’t reasonably argue against interrogation without looking odd. She gripped his arm, stalling him. ‘Luce, first, there is something I have to tell you.’
He covered her hand. ‘Let it wait, Wren. Let’s see to the men while they’re still mulling over their injuries and thinking they might want to save their skins.’ But who was going to save hers when it all came out? The clock above the stable block struck midnight, its chimes filling the night sky—a sky she’d looked up into so peacefully just hours before. Betelgeuse winked at her. Time had run out for her fantasy.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Time has run out for you, gentlemen.’ Luce paced the length of the storeroom, coat off, expression grim, tone far cooler and more controlled than he actually was. He would have his answers and his vengeance. Rage, multifaceted and complex, still coursed through him. The righteous rage of seeing someone he cared for attacked, harmed. He would not soon forget the sight of Wren struggling futilely on the ground. There was impotent rage, too, at having not found her sooner, he could have prevented all of it from happening, and a rage he couldn’t name directed ather. Rage that she’d tried to handle it by herself when they’d planned to do it together tomorrow night at a carefully orchestrated supper where he could protect her.
Luce stopped in front of the men, impatient as he waited for the doctor to finish treating Paterson’s wound. He was aware of Wren in the room, near the door, her own hackles horripilated. Her stiletto clenched in her hand and his coat draped about her. She looked far more like the street scrapper his grandfather had rescued years ago than the demure beauty he’d left Tillingbourne Abbey with earlier this evening. She was angry and bristling. An avenging angel in the flesh, hair flowing about her shoulders, her beautiful ice-pink silk ripped, a red mark on the pale perfection of her skin where Wilkes had landed a blow.She was more than capable of conducting the interrogation herself but Luce would stand between her and her attackers now. It was the least he could do.
