Danger Wears White (12 page)

His main concern remained with Emmy. She must not suffer for this. He’d take care of her if it was the last thing he did.

Rapidly he assessed the situation. A man with his sweetheart, meeting clandestinely. That would be the best answer. He could take her and make everything right for her. More than ever, he was convinced they should marry.

“What is this?” he said loudly, over the guffaws and sniggers. He threw his shirt over his head and thrust his arms into the sleeves. The fewer people who saw that bandage, the better. Nobody who saw it would doubt that it was a bullet wound, and a fresh one at that.

“We got word you’d be here.” While the man spoke with a definite accent, he spoke quietly and the men around him fell silent.

“Someone told on us?” Grinning, he shrugged. “We’re breaking no law.”

“Who are you?”

“A soldier.” He gave a version of his real name. “Tony Shaw.” He borrowed the surname from his cousins. His was more distinctive, and he couldn’t risk that they’d heard it, not until he knew who they were.

“Rank?”

He pretended not to hear and concentrated on pulling his breeches on. He had a pair of stockings, but no shoes.

As he unfolded the breeches, something fluttered from them and landed on the floor.

Oh damn, no.
This couldn’t be happening. Before he could step on the offending item, his interlocutor bent and swept it up. Maybe the cockade was so battered he wouldn’t recognize it.

But the man spread the folds and creases and there it was; the bunch of ribbon with a specific meaning. The white cockade.

“You’re a traitor,” the man said softly. “A Jacobite.”

And there it was. This was a Jacobite household, and its future fraught. How could he repay them by bringing this home to them? He couldn’t do it. “I came at night,” he said rapidly. Once he was away from this place he’d sort it out. “Nobody knew except for the maid.”

“And we all know ’ow you know ’er!” a voice called out from the back and the six men facing him burst into laughter.

Tony welcomed it because it delayed them and gave Emmy time to make herself decent. He feared for her. If they separated them, the men would hurt her. He’d kill anyone who did, but that depended on him getting out of this mess and returning in force. By then she could be hurt beyond repair, her mind destroyed by the rough treatment meted out to her. He’d seen it. How he wished he hadn’t.

He stayed by the door and let them taunt him, saying nothing, standing proud. Until she moved behind him and he bent to help her out of the room. Only then did he have time to take in the terrain.

They stood in an astonishing space. By the light of the flickering lanterns, this place looked like an insane person had built it. A long space, the floor highly polished boards of oak, timber-framed in the Elizabethan style, with timber beams over them. Mullioned sash windows looked out into the darkness, a small stone bridge just in view.

But every timber was bent, curved so the gallery wasn’t straight at all, but appeared as nothing so much as the product of a twisted nightmare. He’d never seen anything like it before. The room where he’d spent the last few days was in a similar shape, but not so pronounced. How this place stood beat his understanding.

Next to him, Emmy moved and he curved his arm protectively around her shoulders. “She had nothing to do with this,” he said. “Take me, and leave her. She’s a maid, that’s all—“

“Imogen!”

A woman’s piercing voice screamed the name from his left. He’d concentrated on the men who’d come to take him, standing to his right, but now he spun around. An older lady hurried up the room, her feet rapping on the wood, uneven in her hurry. Someone followed her, a man. Tony couldn’t see his face yet as it was cast into shadow. The lady carried a single candlestick, but her body blocked Tony’s view. He walked much quieter and stopped, a few feet behind her as she rushed toward Emmy.

Shoving him out of the way, she smothered Emmy, dragging her into her arms. “What are you doing?”

From within the folds of the lady’s voluminous wrapper, in what in other circumstances might be considered an interesting and unusual shade of green, Emmy’s voice emerged. “Please, Mama, I was only caring for a wounded traveler. What would you have me do?”

Mama?
Although the older lady’s robe was a trifle worn, the heavily lavender-scented garment was made of fine silk. Emmy had a mother here?

This woman was no housekeeper. More like a house owner.

The truth hit Tony like a ton of bricks to the side of the head. Emmy—Immy—Imogen. He hadn’t taken the housekeeper to bed. He’d had Imogen Thane, the daughter of the house. And its owner.

Everything grew ten times worse.

“She was doing more than caring for ’im when we caught her!” One of the men who’d crammed into the small room leered at her, his eyes bright.

“You will not speak of that to anyone,” came a clear, crystalline voice, one without inflection or emphasis. There was no need because every syllable was stamped with authority.

The man previously in the shadows stepped forward. “It was a misunderstanding, and you saw nothing. I’m sure your commander will repeat that to you until you understand that simple fact. Surely even a yokel can come to grips with that concept.”

Did he say ten times worse? Make that a hundred.

Standing calmly in the middle of the circle of men, dressed in an exquisite crimson coat and waistcoat, his breeches of a similar color, his cocked hat glittering with gold braid and a huge emerald ring a king would be proud to own on one finger, stood a figure Tony wouldn’t have imagined standing here. Perhaps he should have done, because he and his cousin Julius had been after the same quarry.

Julius, Earl of Winterton, son and heir of the Duke of Kirkburton had come to the rescue. And Tony had never been less pleased to see him.

* * * *

Imogen gaped at the figure standing so calmly, staring at the man who’d appeared like a magician from a cloud of smoke. He was dressed for town, gold braid and jeweled buttons on his waistcoat and coat, his boots so highly polished she could’ve seen her face reflected in them had she wanted to.

Lace so fine spiders could have woven it protruded from beneath the large cuffs of his coat, and the perfectly tied white stock at his neck glittered when he breathed, the result of a diamond pin being used to hold the knot in place. He stood completely still, and while he wasn’t looking at her, she couldn’t take her attention from him.

The man he was fixing his attention on paled, his black stubble easily discernible. He nodded and swallowed. The man glanced away as if bored and turned his attention to the local constable. He wouldn’t be too happy to be roused from his bed at this hour. When the newcomer fixed him with a gimlet stare, he glanced down sheepishly. He could have felled an ox with one blow of his meaty fist, and he was trembling before this dandy?

Except that when the dandy glanced at her, she knew why. That blue stare could have fixed a tiger into place. She dared not look away. His finely sculpted mouth twitched once, and then he swung his gaze back to the constable. “Take the traitor, not the woman he tricked into thinking he was a sad case. I have a warrant for her and her mother.”

“I need to see it, my lord.”

Who was this man? Beside her Tony breathed quietly, but didn’t otherwise move a muscle. He stared at the newcomer, as they all did. She wanted to take his hand but dared not. Her mother stood on her other side, uncharacteristically silent.

With a curt nod, the man dipped a hand inside the capacious pocket of his coat and drew out documents. They looked official, and big red seals decorated one end. “Here.” He handed them to the man.

“I can’t read these.”

He shrugged. “It is hardly my fault that you can’t read Latin. It says that Mrs. Thane and her daughter are of interest to the King, and he wishes to see them.” He glanced at Imogen when she gasped. “My dear, you can hardly continue here. Not now. Your unfortunate encounter will soon be forgotten.” He flicked a glance at the man standing next to her. “Take him. Try and hang him for all I care. He’s a traitor.”

“Halt!”

This was another voice, this time from the left hand side. More feet, more men. Lord Dankworth came into view as the first lord tucked away his documents. Too many boots, too many men. She wanted to shrink away, hide herself. There were almost as many men here as at the last ball she’d attended in Lancaster Assembly Rooms, and none of the women who softened and ameliorated their presences.

“What is this?” Dankworth demanded. He sent a glare in the exquisite’s direction.

The man met Dankworth’s gaze blandly. “I had no idea Northwich and his progeny would take an interest in this case. How interesting.”

“I have a warrant for this man’s arrest.” Dankworth jerked his head in Tony’s direction.

“What a coincidence, so do we.” The exquisitely dressed man stepped forward, addressing the captain of the guard, not Lord Dankworth, who evidently knew him. “Allow me to introduce myself, since nobody of suitable rank is here to do it.”

Dankworth shot him a look of pure contempt, but jerked his head in a terse nod.

The exquisite smiled, slow and lethal. “I will, if you please, dispose of my lesser titles. I’m Julius Caesar, Earl of Winterton, heir to the Duke of Kirkburton.” He turned slowly and executed an exquisite bow. “Dankworth.”

Dankworth returned the bow, but his seemed jerkier, less practiced. “Winterton.”

Lord Winterton—
Julius Caesar?
—curled his lip. “I fear your presence here is a trifle superfluous. The man is to enter the custody of the authorities, and the lady has a pressing appointment with His Majesty at St. James’s.”

Dankworth’s eyes opened a little wider. “How does the king know about Lady Imogen?”

Lord Winterton’s smile didn’t waver. “I told him. She could prove a charming addition to his court.
Miss Thane
is wasted here in the country.”

He shot her a quick glance, and although his perusal made her feel dowdy, Imogen caught something else in that blue gaze. A warning, perhaps. Her senses sharpened. All wasn’t as it appeared here.

“I—I have no desire to go to London.” She wanted everyone to leave her alone. Now Tony knew who she was, now everyone knew what she had done, how could she do anything else?

Lord Winterton’s voice softened. “Nevertheless, a royal command is not one you may disobey with impunity.”

How could her life change so fast, so suddenly? Imogen went back in her mind to when all this had started. The only chance she’d taken in her life had gone wrong so quickly. She lowered her head, unable to look at anyone any longer. Her face flooded with heat, and she clenched her fists in the skirts of her crumpled gown.

“Why are you dressed like that?” her mother demanded abruptly. “That’s your housekeeping gown.”

She didn’t reply. Twice she’d known pure ecstasy. At the time it had seemed worth it. Was it still? Her body answered.
Yes, yes it was
.

With that knowledge, she lifted her chin and met the curious stares aimed at her. She would give no excuses. She had helped a wounded man, and she would do it again. She had made love with him and she’d do that again, too.

But the court? The king? Surely not. She was disgraced, her father an attainted traitor. Why would they want her?

Dankworth waved a piece of paper. “Here is my warrant. The scoundrel will die.” His voice grew louder.

Winterton sent him a look of pure contempt, his blue eyes glittering slits and his mouth set in a hard line. Even though he spoke quietly, everybody listened. “He will suffer the penalties of the law. My compliments to your father.” He nodded to the ruffians. His ruffians. “Take the prisoner, lock him up. I don’t want to see any marks on him, are we clear? When he faces justice, I want him to do it unmarked. After…” He shrugged, the shoulders of his coat moving in a way to suggest powerful muscles beneath.

The men mumbled their assent. Clearly they’d been looking forward to a session of serious bullying. They’d have beaten Tony to a pulp. He would have been fortunate to get to court in one piece.

A king’s court for her, a court of justice for Tony. It hardly seemed fair. It wasn’t fair. How could she leave him? A sob rose in her throat. She swallowed it down.

At that moment Winterton came forward, smiling, his expression a shocking contrast to the one of a moment ago. To her he was all friendliness. He held out his arm. “We will, I believe, be better discussing your appearance at court in private. Perhaps at a more convenient hour. While I frequently keep to such hours in London, I confess that in the country it fatigues me. Do you have a guest chamber you can put at my disposal, or shall I rack up at the nearest inn?”

He waited for her reply, but truly, there was only one. “You are welcome to stay, sir.”

When she glanced up at Tony, his expression was stony. Until he met her gaze, and then his brow creased and he moved his hand, but returned it to his side. She wanted to hold him, but they couldn’t.

To say goodbye like this was agony. “I won’t go, not until I know you’re safe.”

He shook his head. “No, go. You can trust this man.” He shot a quick glance at Winterton. The men were of a height. Challenge flashed between them, so fast only she caught it. “If you harm one hair—“

“Why would I do that?” Winterton stepped back and held an embroidered lace handkerchief to his nose. “Faugh, the man stinks! Take him away.”

After she shared one last lingering glance with her lover, his lordship led her away.

They walked to the end of the gallery, the only sound their feet on the boards and the tap of her mother’s steps following them. For once her surviving parent had the sense to keep quiet.

In private she’d speak to him, beg him if she had to. Behind them, a scuffle began, but Winterton drew them inexorably on. “Looking back is a sign of weakness,” he said unexpectedly. “Don’t doubt that Dankworth will obey the king’s command. He has lost this battle.”

She wasn’t aware there was a battle, and his softened tones startled her. Almost as if he were a real person.