Moonspun Magic (11 page)

“Hawk, married? Good heavens, I remember him saying that . . . well, never mind. Who is she, ma'am?”

“Her name is Frances, she's a Scot, and a vivacious, entertaining girl. They have two children, a boy and a girl. Philip's father will also accompany them, I understand. He is the Marquess of Chandos, you know.”

“Philip?” said Victoria.

“Philip or Hawk, my dear. I'll never forget the time Frances and Hawk's former mistress . . . well, I suppose that tale isn't at all appropriate for Victoria's unwed ears.”

Victoria, leaning forward, her elbows on the table and her chin propped up on her hands, gasped, “What, ma'am? Oh, do tell me. Former mistress? What happened?”

“Victoria,” Rafael said in the same paternal voice of his father, “you will be quiet now.”

“But, Rafael, whatever was his wife doing with his mistress?”

“Former mistress.”

“It still seems odd to me. It doesn't seem at all proper to me that a gentleman would do that sort of thing after he is married.” Her eyes lowered instantly, her thoughts so clearly written on her face that Rafael wanted only to wipe Damien and his atrocious behavior from her mind.

“Some men aren't honorable,” he said. And some wives, he thought, are such cold, frigid creatures that the husbands in question are forced to mistresses. He wondered about Hawk's wife. Two children. Good heavens. He realized with a start that he was twenty-seven years old. He simply hadn't thought about a wife and children during the past five years. He looked at Victoria, and felt that ill-disguised fear. Fate, he thought. Minding his own business, doing nothing at all untoward, only to have himself firmly captured by a little ragamuffin who had become a damned beauty.

“I should say they wouldn't be, to do such a thing,” Lucia was saying. “Honorable, that is.”

“Well, no more of that, ma'am. Victoria, tomorrow morning I shall see your solicitor. And if it pleases you, we will ride in the park in the afternoon so you can show off your fine new plumage.”

“And show you off as well,” she said, admiration plain in her eyes even though her voice was teasing.

As she had the previous evening after tea, Victoria walked with him to the front door.

“You will take care, won't you, Rafael?”

“Take care? Is your solicitor rabid?”

“I don't know,” she said slowly. “I'm just afraid.”

Once again, he touched his fingers to her cheek. “Don't be, Victoria.”

 

***

At precisely ten o'clock the following morning, Rafael entered the office of Mr. Abner Westover.

A black-coated clerk looked up as he came into the office and his eyes widened. He jumped to his feet. “My lord. You're back again? Is something wrong?”

Rafael paused deliberately, knowing full well that the clerk thought him his brother. So, Damien had come to London as quickly as all that, had he? And immediately he'd come to the solicitor. Rafael wasn't really surprised; it suited his own plans.

“I wish to see Mr. Westover,” he said easily.

“Certainly, my lord. Just a moment, if you please.”

Rafael stared around the outer office, noting the musty smell and the very few small windows. He shuddered, thinking of Victoria coming here.

“My lord, welcome. You bring good news, I hope?”

“Mr. Westover,” Rafael said, nodding as the man beamed him a fulsome, yet worried smile.

“Has the young lady, Miss Abermarle, been found as yet, my lord? The thought of ransom, it's infamous. Do you have need of more funds?”

Rafael felt anger surge through him. How could his twin resort to such a thing? Well, if he'd tried to ravish Victoria, nothing was beyond him. So he'd gotten more money from Victoria's estate, had he? For her ransom, curse him to hell.

“No, I have no more need of funds,” he said. “What I should like to have you tell me—again, if you please—are the exact terms of Miss Abermarle's inheritance.”

“But the young lady—”

“She is safe now. I recovered her.” That, at least, was the truth.

“Thank God,” said Mr. Westover. “The terms of her inheritance, my lord? I thought you understood that—”

“Again, if you please, Mr. Westover.”

“Certainly,” Abner Westover said, his voice a bit uncertain at his lordship's behavior. He looked briefly at his clerk whose chin quivered in excitement, and said abruptly, “Come into my office, my lord.”

Dignified, Rafael thought as he seated himself comfortably in a leather chair across from Mr. Westover. He watched the narrow-shouldered man search with prissy deliberation through a pile of folders on his desktop. “Ah, here it is.”

“Go ahead.”

Mr. Westover carefully placed a pair of spectacles on his nose. “As I told you, my lord, I'm concerned with your, er, use of Miss Abermarle's funds. As I have indicated, the principal wasn't to be touched—the interest, invested in the funds, providing sufficient money to provide for her upkeep. However, I have grown gravely concerned during the past six months, as I have written to you, that—”

“Mr. Westover,” Rafael interrupted smoothly, “I understand your concern. No more of the principal will be touched. How much is in the trust for Miss Abermarle?”

If Mr. Westover was surprised at the baron's strange lapse of memory, he gave no sign of it, saying only, “Thirty-five thousand pounds, my lord. It was, of course, nearly fifty thousand pounds, until you removed the fifteen thousand for the ransom demand.”

“I see,” said Rafael, so furious with his brother that he could scarce think straight. Victoria was an heiress. But she wouldn't be for much longer if Damien remained her guardian.

“When does the money come to Miss Abermarle?”

“Upon her twenty-fifth birthday or upon her marriage.” Mr. Westover fussed with some papers, not
looking up. “Of course, any gentleman applying for her hand must have your permission as her guardian.”

Rafael could well imagine that no gentleman, no matter how innocuous or well-placed, would ever gain Damien's permission to marry Victoria. He knew he couldn't ask how his brother happened to become Victoria's guardian. That would be going too far, even for Mr. Westover.

“Can you tell me how you managed to save Miss Abermarle?”

“Of course,” said Rafael. “Smugglers had taken her. It was a relatively easy matter to retrieve her.” It was at least the truth, Rafael thought. “Incidentally, Mr. Westover, the fifteen thousand pounds weren't needed. The funds will be returned to Miss Abermarle's trust.”

“Excellent, my lord. I had thought that . . . Well, never mind now. I will say only that you have relieved my mind greatly.”

But Rafael knew what the man had wanted to say. He was honest, and distressed at Damien's misuse of his young client's inheritance. What the devil should he do now? he wondered, rising. He shook Mr. Westover's hand and took his leave. He was deep in thought when he suddenly heard a man shout, “Good God. As I live and breathe. It's the infamous pirate.”

Rafael jerked about to see Philip Hawksbury, Earl of Rothermere, standing across the street, waving at him.

“Hawk,” he said, grinning. They met in the middle of the street, shaking hands vigorously, to the raised ire of a hackney driver.

“Come along, old fellow,” said Hawk, clapping Rafael on his back. “Lord, what a long time it's been.
What are you doing in London? Where are you staying?”

Rafael said, “Haven't you seen Lucia?”

Hawk looked dumbfounded. “How do you know Lucia? No, Frances and I are at Hawksbury House. We are dining with her this evening. But how do you know Lucia?”

“There is much to tell you, Hawk. Let's go to Cribb's Parlor and I'll fill you in.”

The two gentlemen found a table in the corner of the taproom and ordered ale. “I can't wait to meet your wife, Hawk. So you've been properly caged?”

“True enough,” agreed Hawk easily. “Now, Rafael, tell me all about what you've been doing. And how you know Lucia.”

Rafael sat back in his chair and told him everything; there was no reason not to. After all, Hawk knew all about Rafael's work for the government. Since Victoria was staying with Lucia, there was no excuse not to tell him of her. Nor did he spare the details of his brother's infamy. Hawk was very intelligent and Rafael rather hoped to get his opinion on how to proceed. “So, when you yelled at me, I had just left Victoria's solicitor. And that, my friend, is how things sit at this moment.”

“Fascinating, Rafael. As I recall, your presence always relieved tedium. So it continues. And you've got the young lady at Lucia's. A pity about your brother. But wait—Lyon is married. It's almost too much to take in, all your news. Frances and I met Diana, of course.”

They were drinking their third mug of ale when Rafael said honestly, “I think I just might need your assistance, Hawk. I have the proof that my brother is a damned bounder. And Victoria must be protected somehow.”

“What do you think of the girl?”

Rafael looked into the mug of ale, swirling the gold-brown liquid about. He said thoughtfully, more to himself than to Hawk, “She's lovely and quite intelligent. She's got courage and strength, although at the moment she's every reason to be afraid. She is, in short, an admirable girl and well, a darling.”

“Ah.”

“Ah what, curse you, Hawk?”

“Marry her.”

Rafael met the earl's eyes. He wouldn't have been overly surprised to see the word “Fate” written across Hawk's forehead. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “that it is the only thing to do. Actually, I had already decided it best, not five minutes before you shouted at me.”

“At least you've had the chance to get to know her,” said Hawk. “Much different from my experience. Lord, I shall never remember without a profound shudder Frances's disguise. You will like Frances. She's a real trooper.”

“Did you bring your children?”

“No, little Alexandra is too young, and as for Charles, he gets vilely ill in a traveling coach. One of the realities of married life, old man. Incidentally, you must meet my father, the marquess. No doubt about it, Rafael, once he learns of your dilemma, he will stick his oar in. He's a great plotter, curse him.”

“As subtle as a battering ram, like Lucia?”

“The two of them with their heads together would be enough to send Napoleon scurrying back to Russia.”

“Lucia just happened to mention last evening about Frances and your former mistress saving the day. Needless to say, Victoria was all ears.”

“They attacked me, the both of them. Frances slammed her fist in my belly. Ah, what a time that was.”

More time passed with reminiscences. “Good Lord,” Rafael said suddenly. “I promised to take Victoria riding in the park.”

“Well, Frances and I will see both of you this evening. Rafael?”

“Yes?”

“Take care of the little one.”

“Oh, indeed I shall.” But Damien was in London. And it worried him, even though there was no way Damien could know where she was or whom she was with. Damien didn't even know that his errant twin had come home.

 

Rafael was abstracted, a completely unacceptable companion, Victoria thought, looking at him from beneath her lashes. There were more ladies and gentlemen in the park than Victoria ever could have imagined. Since Rafael knew no one, their perambulations were uninterrupted.

“Careful of that landau, Victoria.”

She automatically brought her mare closer to his stallion. He merely nodded and fell again into his own thoughts.

“Do you like my new riding habit?”

“Yes.”

“And the hat? They dyed the feather to match the blue velvet. It's royal blue, you know.”

“Charming.”

“My boots are the finest Spanish leather.”

“Nice.”

“And my chemise is covered with lace.”

“Yes, very good . . .
What
?”

“There, at least I've finally gained your attention. Now, Rafael, I have had quite enough of your secrecy. I'm not a nit-witted child. Tell me about Mr. Westover and your interview with him. Am I an heiress?”

“Not if Damien continues with his machinations.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Victoria, that you're better off not knowing, and—”

“Rafael, I am the key to all of this. If you don't tell me everything, I shall go visit Mr. Westover myself.”

She watched a muscle jump in his jaw. He wasn't, she realized, a man who took orders easily, or ultimatums. She watched, fascinated, as his beautiful gray eyes, almost silver in the afternoon sunlight, narrowed on her face. “You, my girl, will do exactly what you're told. Do you understand me?”